


to rest in crypts and wake in gardens

by feralphoenix



Series: you can only use your own [10]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Sign Language, Autistic Frisk, Body Horror, Disabled Character, Ensemble Cast, Food Issues, Nonverbal Frisk, Other, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, photophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 58,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: There’s a very small part of you that’s almost—annoyed at the way they’re pulling you along, expecting you to keep going when you’re already so tired. But you’re also annoyed at the part of you that’s grateful for them whisking you through this strange place, because you have so little to keep you going otherwise. Didn’t you climb the mountain in the first place, fling yourself into that hole, because you were so sure that there was nothing left?
Or: Frisk survives a long fall and figures out what comes next.





	1. sleeping, like dying, delivers you from one world to the next

**Author's Note:**

> _(Oh life, with your shoulders in the mirror_ – maybe you will be the person who makes the sky blush.)  
>   
> 
> this story is set four years after [under my skin, there will be flowers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7928179).
> 
> warnings for discussion of all the usual stuff pertinent to chara (c-ptsd, anxiety, self-negativity, abuse, etc) and frisk (neglect, abandonment issues, food/hoarding issues, attempted suicide).
> 
> wrt the "disabled character" tag, chara has chronic pain (among various other mild-to-moderate chronic health issues) as a result of their poisoning. see [somebody out there needs you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5431163) for details.
> 
> chara's name sign is shamelessly cribbed from mangaluva's [give me a sign](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5448176), and frisk's from inverts' [pierce the heavens](http://archiveofourown.org/series/426649) series, both of which you ought to read if you haven't yet.
> 
> all chapter titles are from musterni's [shitty horoscopes](https://shittyhoroscopeszine.tumblr.com/).

It stings.

Your wrist stings, and something smells nice. You’re awake.

If you’re awake—that must also mean that you’re alive. If the afterlife is good you don’t think you’re supposed to hurt there, and aside from your wrist your legs are throbbing vaguely, plus your nose feels like you’ve mashed it against something. And you don’t think that a bad afterlife would smell as nice as your surroundings.

You’ve botched it again, then. Your eyes feel hot. Try as you might, it seems like your body just won’t let go of life. It’s almost funny. You just grunt instead of laughing, though; you haven’t got that in you right now.

Lying here until you die of hunger is technically an option, you suppose, but it’s not attractive. So you squint your eyes open a crack and slowly push yourself into a sitting position, blinking at your surroundings.

You’ve landed in the middle of a thick patch of soft wildflowers, all kinds of them—more than you know how to recognize. When you glance up, the hole that you fell through seems shimmery and vague, small enough to block out with a hand; the flowers are probably all that kept you alive after you jumped. Shifting confirms your fears: You’ve crushed a lot of them, their stems snapped and bent, petals squished. Fingers shaking, you pet them gently; you didn’t want this at all. You wish you could’ve fallen a few feet to the left or right, and prevented all this waste—trust you to cause this much damage just by existing.

For the most part, you appear to be unharmed. There are a few extra scrapes and scratches on your hands and tiny runs in your tights, but the laces of your boots aren’t even untied. The bandage around your wrist is, predictably, coming undone; you pull your sleeve up and wrap it back up as tightly as you can despite the sense of futility.

You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You ran up here after you ran out of supplies, after you realized the bitter truth you knew deep down all along, that no one was going to come to get you. After you decided you might as well end it yourself after all instead of waiting. You have no food, nothing to drink, and no idea of where to find those things. Your clothes are dirty, your wrist is probably still bleeding, and there’s probably no place to go to the bathroom here, wherever _here_ is. At least flowers growing means that there’s water here somewhere, doesn’t it? Maybe you should go look, if you can convince yourself to not just lie back down and hope that this time you won’t wake up.

“Oh,” says a voice, and you catch your breath and whip your head up so fast you nearly hurt your neck. There’s a _person_ here with you.

Whoever they are, they’re standing at the mouth of a tunnel that you hadn’t yet examined your surroundings close enough to notice, looking down at you with round eyes. They’re wearing a long purple… robe? Dress, maybe? over a white shirt with long sleeves and a high collar. It’s hard to tell what kind of shoes they’re wearing under the robe(?), but you can at least see that they’re black. There’s a big blue patch over their chest with a white—coat of arms?—on it that you’ve never seen before, three triangles under a winged circle. Their robe is belted at the waist with a small knife at their left hip, and there’s a golden heart-shaped pendant on their chest.

Their hair is a little over half auburn; the rest is white. Some of it frames their face, and the rest is pinned up behind them with some sort of gold pins and wire that you can’t see clearly with them facing you. The irises of their eyes are the bright red color of fresh blood—even weirder than the too-light color of your own eyes—and there are dark circles under them. Their skin’s probably a little lighter than yours under their blush, you think; aside from their eyes and graying hair, you think the strong line of their nose with the slight hook in its bridge catches your eye most.

They’re definitely a grown-up. They have more gray hair than any of the teachers in your school, so you want to guess that they’re maybe in their early fifties or so, but the only lines on their face are very thin and fine, so maybe they’re in their forties and just started going gray early.

“You’ve—fallen down, haven’t you,” they say, and take a step closer. “Are you all right?”

You shrug a little. _Where are we?_ you sign, not thinking. _I didn’t think anyone lived on the mountain._

“Oh,” they say again, eyebrows raising. And—so quickly that you can hardly believe it’s happening—they raise their own hands and sign along as they reply, “Technically, no one does. These caves are inside Mt. Ebott, not on them, and they’re certainly populated.”

 _I can hear,_ you sign back, stupidly, rudely, because that’s definitely what you need to say to someone who’s courteous enough to reply in the same language instead of being mean to you when they see you trying to communicate. You flush so badly that your ears feel scalded. _Sorry,_ you add feebly.

The person actually _smiles_ a little as they drop their gaze. “That’s all right,” they say, and then look back up at you hastily. “I didn’t want to assume either way, and now I know.” They rub at their upper arm in what you think might be self-consciousness, and then reach the same hand up to squeeze their pendant. “I am Chara,” they say, and then they finger-spell _C-H-A-R-A_ for you, and show you a sign you don’t know: It looks like the sign for knife but in reverse, their right index finger sweeping towards their chest instead of towards you. It has to be their name sign. They make it a second time, and this time you repeat it. They smile again. “That’s very good. What do you like to be called?”

You spell _F-R-I-S-K_ for them, and follow it up with the name sign you chose for yourself—an F with your right hand tapped twice over your chest in the same place as the sign for heart.

Chara mimics you, getting the sign right on their first try. “Frisk?” they ask, and they smile when you nod. “And what pronouns do you prefer?”

The relief that rushes over you when they ask this is as tangible as if someone has wrapped you up in a warm blanket and given you a tall glass of strawberry milk. _They,_ you tell them, smiling.

This time they grin. “Will you look at that, we match,” they say.

You let your smile grow in response. Some of the library workers and convenience store cashier clerks back in town are trans, but none of them are nonbinary like you, and certainly none of them are as old as Chara.

They take another step towards you, then another, much steadier and more confident now. Then they extend their left hand to you and lean down slightly. “Can you stand?” they ask.

You consider the hand. They’re wearing a thin gold ring on their ring finger, and they’ve also got a wrist brace on, which you didn’t notice before. There are little scars like craters on their fingers and the top of their palm, old and white and barely visible. You take their hand in your right one and let them pull you up. They’re slow and careful at it, and they don’t let go until you’re steady on your feet. They’re only a little less than a head taller than you, now that you’re both standing.

 _Thank you,_ you tell them, and then look guiltily at the flowerbed behind you. _And I’m sorry for ruining the flowers._

Chara’s forehead creases a little, and this time their smile isn’t as wide. “It’s all right,” they say, more gently than they’ve said anything before. “This is what those flowers are here for—cushioning the ground so that people who fall or… jump can land safely. They’ve been here for twenty-four years now. They’ll heal, and grow back in all the stronger.” Their gaze gets a little distant. “That fall’s not steep enough to be fatal, unless you land badly. It’s still a sharp enough drop for serious injuries, though.”

 _You talk like you know,_ you say, and it seems to startle them out of their reverie.

Chara nods, matter-of-fact. “I came here through the same hole when I was your age,” they say. “Twenty-eight years ago last September.”

If they were really the same age as you then, that would make them only thirty-eight now, you calculate, fingers tapping on your thighs as you count. Either they’re overestimating how old you are because you’re a little tall for ten, or they’re a lot younger than you guessed.

 _Where is here?_ They haven’t yet gotten irritated with you for your questions, and you’ve got to get information out of _someone_ if it’s too late for you to just curl up on the ground and wait to die now. _You said people live here, but in town they say that this is a cursed mountain no one ever returns from._

Chara folds their arms behind their back and straightens up, and answers your question with a question. “Do they still have those old fairy tales about monsters and how they went to war with humans?” they ask. You nod, and they go on. “Then you might remember that the monster survivors were all sealed away. Mt. Ebott is where they all live now. These caves are called the underground, or the Kingdom of Monsters. They, along with most other places here, were all named by the previous king. His names are _incredibly_ on the nose.” This they say with a straight face, but you think their eyes are laughing, so you smile a little.

“Anyway, it’s impossible to leave once you’re inside the seal, but you can get in from the outside. We think that’s why the rumors about this mountain came about—to keep anyone from venturing in and getting stuck, or worse,” Chara goes on. They spread their hands a little self-deprecatingly. “Looking at the two of us, I’m sure you can tell how well that worked out.”

You smile a little again, and Chara smiles a little back, kicking one foot out briefly before returning to their lecturing pose.

“So, yes—monsters live here. A few humans, too, who came through that hole up there like you and me. Speaking of monsters,” they say, frowning, “would you mind if I made a quick phone call?”

There’s _phone service_ down here? You want to tilt your head at the strangeness of it, but instead you just nod, not wanting to impose. Chara digs in their pocket and comes up with—you think it’s called a smartphone, from what you’ve seen in old movies; it’s very old-fashioned looking. Chara unlocks it and enters a few commands with the touch screen, then holds the phone to their ear and waits. They perk up after a few seconds—whoever they called must have answered.

“Ree?” they say, their gaze swimming off towards the juncture of cave wall and ceiling. “—Yes, I know I’m taking a while, something happened.” A pause. “No, it’s nothing that dramatic. We have another new one.” Another pause. “Their name’s Frisk. They’re—how old are you?” they ask, swinging around and startling you even as you answer. “They’re ten,” they inform their conversation partner, nodding their thanks. “I’m going to start bringing them back, but I want you to come meet us along the way, if you can sneak off. They could be hurt, and as I don’t have magic like _some people,_ I have no way to heal them.

“All right.” Their gaze—their posture, their whole aspect softens as they smile this time. “I’ll see you very soon, then. I love you.” And they pull away from the phone, doing something with it to make its screen go dark. “My partner,” they say by way of explanation, sticking the phone back into their pocket. “If you’re hurt anywhere, he can help you. I’ll bring you to meet him—it will be a good chance to show you what kind of place the underground is.”

They offer you their right hand, expectant.

You hesitate for just a moment, but—little as you know about this place, little as you know Chara themself, they’re like you. And you have nothing to lose, nothing to fear. You came here ready to lose your life. What can they really do to you that’s so bad in the face of everything you’ve already endured?

So you put your left hand in theirs. Chara holds it very gently.

“Then let us go, Frisk,” they say, and they lead you towards the entrance they came through.

 

 

Through the tunnels and a few inexplicable piles of red leaves, Chara leads you up a staircase into what looks like a big purple building.

“This castle is the center of the old capital, Home,” they explain. “You see what I mean about names. Up until a few decades ago, all monsters lived in this city or as close to it as they could—since then everyone has spread out a lot more.”

There’s a door before you, but instead of opening it, Chara leans against the wall. You cock your head to one side.

“This is locked,” they say. “And it’s a good opportunity to explain something you’ll see a lot of in the underground—puzzles. In between towns, you can’t go a block without tripping over one. It’s as bad as an old video game.”

 _What’s the point of them?_ you ask, frowning.

Chara shrugs. “It seems like initially they were made as a way to stall intruding humans, but then monsters just got used to having them and started using them in place of non-magical locks, for fun. The ones here in the back of the castle are pretty easy—my partner and I used to use them for practice when we were young. That plaque beside the door—” they point helpfully, here— “is your hint, and these switches here next to the path are the puzzle. If you’d like to try it out yourself, go ahead; I’ll refrain from telling you the answer unless you get stuck. If it sounds like too much bother, I’ll take care of it. There’s one in almost every room from here to the castle, and if you change your mind at any point, let me know.”

They seem content to loiter and watch you, so you square your shoulders and tramp over to the plaque they pointed out to you. It says “Only the fearless may proceed. Brave ones, foolish ones. Both take not the middle road.”

You turn and look back at the rest of the room. There are six switches on the ground and a lever on the wall next to Chara. The ground underneath two of the switches is light, like the path that cuts through the middle of the room.

It seems easy enough. But then, if you fail such an easy puzzle, won’t Chara be disappointed in you? You could always ask them to do it instead, rather than face the consequences of making a wrong choice yourself.

But—no. If you cause them too much trouble, they’ll get angry and leave, just like everyone else does. So you take a deep breath, push the four switches on the darker ground down with your foot, and then push the heavy lever up, hoping.

The door creaks and opens with a deep heavy noise, and you could float from relief when Chara smiles at you and says “Well done.”

They walk through the opened passageway, and you follow them.

“This is another one with switches—I think it will be easy for you, though, so I’ll just wait by the end of the path,” they tell you this time, and off they go. It looks like the door to the next room is blocked off by some kind of obstacle, but there’s a plaque in the corner of the room that holds more of your attention. If you can keep solving puzzles right, then maybe you can make a good impression on Chara, and…

Well, you’re not sure how interested in the future you are anyway, but it would be nice to have someone not completely disappointed in you.

The plaque says to stay on the path. There are two wall switches that the path leads right up to, and one further down the wall. Chara’s right; it is easy.

There’s something like… handwriting, maybe? on the wall next to the first of the correct switches, though it’s too faded to make out actual words. You wave to get Chara’s attention, pointing to it when they turn to look at you.

“Oh—my foster mother wrote those for kids going through these puzzles,” they say. “She’ll probably rewrite them again soon if I tell her they’re getting faded. She worries.”

 _She sounds nice,_ you sign.

Chara’s quiet for just long enough that you’re wondering if you were too far away for them to see you clearly, then: “She cares very much,” they say at last. “She does her best, and she’s a good teacher and a good cook, even if she can be a little intimidating from time to time.”

Was that silence because they were thinking about you coming to a judgment on their foster mother’s character so quickly, or because of complicated feelings for her on their own part? You don’t know them or their circumstances well enough to tell.

You go flip the other switch, and the barricade retracts into the ground with a loud clanking noise.

“Well done,” Chara says again. They wait for you to catch up to them before proceeding into a small hallway.

Their pace slows as the two of you turn the bend, and you look up at them to see them turning around slightly.

“Sometimes there’s a dummy around here,” they say, “but they must be off visiting relatives today. It doesn’t matter that much. Monsters know nowadays what humans look like.”

You tap their arm very lightly to get them to look down at you. _What does it matter that monsters know what humans look like?_

“Monsters like to use their magic to spar with one another,” Chara explains. “It’s just playing, but humans can’t create bullets to fight back with, and monsters’ bodies can’t stand up to physical attacks very well, so it’s very unfair for monsters and humans to fight. My foster mother apparently makes a point of having human children practice nonviolent actions to use in such conflicts with the dummy, but nowadays monsters won’t mistake us for the same kind of being and invite us to fight.”

You nod; Chara goes on.

“For what it’s worth, if something ever happens and you _do_ get drawn into a battle, just run away if you can’t convince the other party to stand down. It isn’t worth exposing yourself to danger, and they won’t chase you if you show so blatantly that you don’t intend to play along.”

Privately you think you’d rather keep trying to work it out with the theoretical monster so that you can fix whatever you’re doing wrong or help them calm down from whatever they’re upset about, but Chara’s advice is practical, so you give them a thumbs up.

They proceed to the next room, and you follow them.

This chamber is a much bigger one than the last, and the light-colored path beneath your feet follows a twisty pattern over the ground. Chara walks straight towards the hall, ignoring it, and you follow after them.

“The main puzzle here is in the next room,” they say as you trot to keep up with their longer strides. “There should be a hint plaque up in the hall, if you want to keep solving—oh, hello there.”

You turn to see what’s gotten Chara’s attention, and very quickly take a step closer to them. There’s a white froglike creature about as tall as your waist hopping up towards you. It has a face on its stomach that moves and blinks independently from its head.

It ribbits at Chara in croaks with varying pitches and lengths, and Chara listens to it as if it’s speaking in an actual language. “Yes,” they say when it goes quiet. Maybe it is. “We have a new one. I’m showing them around. This is Frisk.”

You jump a little, but you understand the cue, so you wave hello to the monster. It bobs its big frog head back at you.

“Yes, you can go tell the others,” they say, and it hops back off.

 _What was that?_ you ask, once the monster has hopped around the corner and out of view.

“That was a Froggit,” Chara explains. They finger-spell it out for you and give you the proper sign for them to practice. “They’re a species of monster that mostly live around Home still. They’re very gentle creatures—though they can be a little difficult to understand if you aren’t used to how they talk.”

You reach the end of the short hall and catch your breath: The floor in the connected room is coated in sharp spikes as tall as your chest.

“Can you figure this one out?” Chara asks from very far away. You barely hear them over all the metal spreading out before your eyes. At the same time, you feel very very far away and pinned in your body like a butterfly on a card in a collector’s museum. The bandage on your wrist is itchy; you hold your right arm in your left hand and scratch at it as surreptitiously as you can.

It would be so _easy._

“Frisk.” Chara’s voice is tinny, but the white crest on its blue field is right in front of your face, and you jump a little. They’re so close that you can see your own distorted reflection in the metal of their locket.

Their hands fold around yours and untangle them, and you look down so that you won’t have to look up into their face. Your stomach drops a little anyway. The nails and fingertips of your left hand are red; the bandage has half unraveled, and the swollen scab across your wrist is broken and weeping blood and gross yellow pus.

“It’s the spikes, isn’t it.” A pause. “You can just nod or shake your head if you don’t want to or are not up to signing.” It occurs to you that they aren’t shouting at you, and through your confusion you nod. “That’s okay. I can wrap your arm back up when we’re on the other side, but let’s focus on getting you through here for now. These spikes retract over a path that’s the same as the lighter area in the last room. I’ll lead you across. Close your eyes or look only at me, and hold on to my hand. You’ll be fine.” Another pause. “Is that okay with you?”

You nod and squeeze your eyes shut tight.

Chara walks in slow, small steps so that you won’t trip, their right hand firm around your left. You hold your right hand up level with your heart and press close to Chara’s side as they lead you. After a while, your footsteps stop clanging on metal, but it’s a few moments later when Chara reports that it’s safe to open your eyes now.

The two of you are in a long corridor that doesn’t seem to hold anything remarkable. There are no Froggits, no other monsters; just the two of you.

Chara lifts up your right arm, pushes your sleeve back, and unwinds your bandage. They look at your cut-up wrist and at all the bloodstains on the cloth, spend a moment searching for a clean spot, and then wrap it back up again—a lot more expertly than you could’ve done. Maybe it’s just because they have two free hands.

“It’s not much, but it should hold until we get back to Asgore and Toriel’s,” they say with a sigh. “We can get you a clean one then if we have to, and wash this or throw it out.”

Their voice is very soft—you can’t pick up on any annoyance in their tone at all. They must be better at hiding it than anyone you’ve ever met.

You fold your fingers into a fist and release them experimentally. The tug of the bandage around your wrist is almost pleasant. You repeat the movement a few times, testing.

“Um,” you say aloud.

Chara almost startles, you think; you’re also very sure that you only notice this because of how closely you’re watching them. “What is it?”

You ball your right hand into a fist and use it to circle your heart, over and over.

“You don’t have to apologize,” they say very quietly. “It’s alright. I understand.”

Somehow, that’s very difficult to believe.

“I _do_ understand,” Chara says, and despite yourself you tilt your chin up just enough that you can see their face.

Their eyes are narrowed and their brow furrowed with something resembling but not quite the same as concern, and they’re smiling as if through pain, the bow of their mouth lopsided and a little too flat.

Seeing you looking at them, they pull their right sleeve up so that its cuff is crumpled at their elbow, exposing a few inches of pale forearm past the edge of their wrist brace. Scars, some old and white, some half-healed pink, some so faded they’re barely visible, crisscross Chara’s skin like tallies. Unthinking, you reach out with the desire to trace them, like Chara’s skin is rough-textured paint on canvas in a museum, so enticing you’d have to stick your hands in your pockets to keep from rubbing it and getting shouted at. You just barely restrain yourself at the last moment now, too, remembering that Chara is a person and one you’ve only just met. You deliberately retract your hand to your waist, and push your thumb through your belt loop.

“I understand,” Chara says again, and they tug their sleeve back down over their scars and the end of their brace.

“Chara?” someone calls from the other end of the hall, echoing slightly from its length, and Chara just _lights up._ They seem to rise eagerly where they stand, turning towards the voice, color blooming in their weathered cheeks, eyes widening, a smile stretching the corners of their mouth. It looks too big on their face. You bet it’s the kind of expression your parents and teachers would call creepy.

There’s a monster there, walking towards the two of you in hurried strides. They’re very big, with white fur and horns and a messy, dark honey-gold… mane? They walk on two legs like a human, but their hindquarters are distinctly animal-like, shaped like a dog or big cat’s. The long twisty horns look like they could belong on some kind of goat or deer; but the ears are round, floppy, and beagle-like; and the mane is distinctly lionish.

They’re also wearing khaki shorts that bag awkwardly at their heels and cling to their thighs, a button-down shirt, and a knit sweater vest with patterns of stars and flowers. There’s a heart-shaped pendant on their chest that you’re very sure is the match for Chara’s.

The monster stops when they get to you, and you swallow hard, craning your head back to look up into their face, their light brown eyes. They only have eyes for Chara, though, holding out open arms to them: Chara steps into the welcoming hug and reaches up to hold the monster’s white muzzle between their scarred-up hands, going up on tiptoe. The monster hugs them gently around the waist, and their mouths meet.

Your face feels hot, watching them kiss. Aside from the monster’s long muzzle meaning they can’t pucker their lips like a human, it looks like something out of a movie—like the grown-up movies your parents would leave on the TV to watch or for background noise without caring that you were around. You think you see tongue, and Chara makes a soft sound that feels way too intimate for you to be hearing in person, but the two of them separate before you can actually make up your mind to cover your eyes and give them privacy.

Set down on their feet, Chara leans into the big monster’s chest and stomach, giggling like a teenager. Their face is alight with mischief as they turn to you and gesture. “This, Frisk, is my partner,” they announce unnecessarily.

The monster untangles their—no, _his,_ didn’t Chara use he pronouns when talking about their partner earlier?—left arm from Chara and extends a very large hand towards you. It has squishy-looking pink pads on the palm and every fingertip. Curiosity as to whether it feels the same as a cat or dog’s toe beans as much as courtesy leads you to put your own left hand in his. It’s barely the size of his palm pad. When he folds his hand around yours it’s careful, and when he shakes it, he seems practiced at containing his strength when it comes to interacting with people smaller than him.

“Howdy,” he says. “My name’s Asriel Dreemurr. It’s nice to meet you, Frisk.”

You smile and nod, since it’s hard to answer properly with one of your hands occupied.

“So you’re new to the underground, huh,” he goes on, releasing you. “Golly, you must be so confused. It’s lucky Chara was there to find you! We’ll help teach you how things work around here, get you settled in.”

 _Chara said that it’s impossible to leave because of the seal,_ you muse, signing along with your thoughts.

“It is for now,” Asriel answers. “But we’ve got someone working on that, so someday we’re going to be free. We can explain more about that later, though.”

 _Do all monsters know sign language?_ is the first thing you think to ask, and both Chara and Asriel raise their eyebrows at you. The similarity of their expressions is kind of funny, given the difference in species and size. The top of Chara’s head is just shy of being level with Asriel’s shoulder.

“Not everyone,” Asriel answers, “but most people know at least some, I think.”

“All the other fallen humans are fluent,” Chara supplies. They fold their arms and lean against Asriel’s arm as they look at you. “A family friend of Asriel’s parents is unable to speak. I knew a little already when I was young, because I’ve had nonverbal episodes in the past—I learned more from his oldest child, and Asriel wound up learning with me after a while. Everyone in our close social circle at least will be able to understand you, even if some won’t be able to reply in sign.”

You get the strong urge to pinch yourself, but your wrist still stings like nettles, and shouldn’t that be all the proof you need that this is real? A whole _country,_ even one small enough to fit inside a mountain, where you won’t have to force yourself to speak out loud to be understood. You feel downright _guilty,_ to have such a gift dropped into your lap.

“Asriel,” Chara is saying, “will you look Frisk over and patch them up? We’re still a ways away from your parents’ place. If they’re hurt somewhere on the inside, I don’t want them to have to bear with it all the way.” And to you: “I said so before, but he has healing magic—he can get your wrist, too, if you need it. I think you should let him, but it’s up to you.”

You blink. Asriel is already kneeling before you, putting him at just below eye level for you—like you’re a much younger child, you think. He holds out both hands, gently. “I won’t do anything without your consent,” he says seriously, “but it would make me happy if I can help. It won’t hurt—is it okay with you if I heal you?”

And your hands are ready to turn him down, to demur, because you can’t impose, you’re not _supposed_ to impose. But he said it would make him happy. And it does hurt. So at length you nod and set your hands in his big palms.

Something… warm, pleasantly so, runs over you—like standing under the changing room showers after your school’s mandatory swimming lessons. The dull ache in your nose goes away, then the soft stinging in your hands and knees follows it. The bruises along your front from landing soothe away like candy melting, and that comparison makes you notice that Asriel’s hands are emitting a soft spearmint-colored glow.

He leaves your right wrist for last, and he closes his eyes as if in concentration. More obvious lights gather around your hand like little fireflies, all that same spearmint green, landing and beading and sinking into you. It’s a curious sensation—it doesn’t hurt, but it’s so hot it’s nearly uncomfortable, like catching melting wax with your fingertip.

“I think we should have Mom look at this when we get to our old house,” Asriel announces at last. “I’ve stopped the bleeding and repaired some of the damage, but I don’t know if I got all the infection, and it hasn’t been treated properly—that shows in how it’s healing. It’s good you tried so hard to keep it wrapped up, Frisk,” he says seriously. Your stomach jolts—if anything, you’d expected rebuke for not taking care of yourself. “This would be much worse otherwise. I can tell you did the best you could with what you had. Don’t do anything too rough with this ‘til my mother treats you just in case, OK?”

“You don’t need to second-guess yourself so much, you know,” Chara says as he straightens up, leaving you boggling up at him. “You’ve been in charge of _my_ medication and physical therapy for eight full years and you’ve always been perfectly capable with it.”

Asriel scratches at his chin. He looks like he’s pleased and trying not to be. “Heck, Chara. I’m glad you think I’m doing a good job, but Frisk’s health is important, so I don’t want to take chances.”

“He tries to be humble,” Chara says to you in an aside, and you giggle. “I believe he’s under some egregiously mistaken impression that it’s charming or something.”

 _What do you mean my health is important?_ you ask, still smiling a little. _I’m just some kid you’ve barely even met._

Asriel and Chara do that thing again, where they both make the exact same expression. This time they look at each other too, holding each other’s gaze for a moment as if communicating by eye contact alone.

“Well, first of all, your health is important because everybody deserves care, and you’re part of ‘everybody’,” Asriel says. “And besides, we’re responsible for you now.”

You frown, but Chara picks up after him before you can argue. “I found you, for one thing. For another, you’re a child in need and we’re adults, and you remind both of us of myself at your age. But more than that, this is _our_ kingdom. We care about everyone in it, and that includes you, Frisk.”

You finger your dirty bandage instead of saying anything.

“Anyway—we’ve still got a ways to go to get back to the house,” Asriel says, shrugging. “I’m sure you’re tired. The sooner we get there, the sooner you can rest.”

There’s a very small part of you that’s almost—annoyed at the way they’re pulling you along, expecting you to keep going when you’re already so tired. But you’re also annoyed at the part of you that’s grateful for them whisking you through this strange place, because you have so little to keep you going otherwise. Didn’t you climb the mountain in the first place, fling yourself into that hole, because you were so sure that there was nothing left?

You can’t think about that now. There’s nothing you can _do_ about that now.

So you just nod to Chara and Asriel and let them lead you on down the long corridor.

 

 

The next room is inexplicably carpeted in red leaves. They’re crisp and crackly underfoot, the best kind; inexplicably, the sound cheers you up. Slither-slither- _snap_ -crunch-crack. Even after the healing you’re too tired to run around in them and kick them all over, but that would probably cause trouble for anyone who wants the path to stay clean anyway, so that’s fine. You do hold your arms out at your sides and kick your feet up as you walk.

“There’s that thing with the Monster Candy over that way,” Asriel says, and points to a small dead-end room to your left.

“That is a good idea,” Chara muses. “Frisk, are you hungry at all?”

You want to deflect, but your stomach chooses exactly this moment to gurgle hopefully at this suggestion of food, so you just duck your head in embarrassment. It’s been a long few days, and you probably used up a lot of energy mountain climbing. You can’t visit your stashes anymore (it’s a pang to think that—the little oyster cracker packets you carefully stowed away will go bad, now, without you there to savor them bit by bit in emergencies). There’s no reserve for you, and you’re running on fumes.

“We’ll get you a proper meal when we reach Asriel’s parents’,” Chara says, “but in that case it’s probably best to get you something to tide yourself over.” And, that decided, the two of them lead you into the room. There’s a stout pedestal its center, with a wide bowl of candies in wrappers and a sign saying Take One. You pick out one. Asriel takes a fistful.

Maybe you look shocked, because Chara smiles and says, “As long as you’re not taking them _all_ or knocking the bowl over and spilling everything everywhere, you can take a few instead of one. Toriel refills this every few days. It is candy for _everyone,_ but there’s enough to compensate for differences in individual need—for instance, people of whom there is a lot to feed,” here they gesture up and down at Asriel, who grins; “or people who happen to be particularly hungry at the moment.”

 _Are you going to take some?_ you ask.

Chara makes a face. “Monster Candy is to me as Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans are to Dumbledore,” they say, shrugging, adopting a rather tragic air. “Forgive me if the refrance is outdated. Somehow I always wind up picking the licorice ones. Even _I_ know when to quit.”

“More for the rest of us,” Asriel says, grin widening. He winks at you, and despite yourself, you giggle.

The candy wrappers are all bright colors, but there seems to be no correlation between wrapper color and flavor. You tuck two candies into your pocket and eat a third, strawberry-flavored one.

This cheers you up, too.

You follow Chara and Asriel through the leaf hall again and into a room with a wide band of cracks along its floor and two window-like openings in its wall. Chara makes a face.

“If you step on those you’ll fall to a room beneath this one,” they explain, pointing to the cracks. “It’s safe—there’s a leaf pile under the holes—and you can get back here by climbing back up through those—” they indicate what you thought were windows— “but it’s easier to jump across them if falling doesn’t sound like a good time right now. I jumped them on the way out, actually. I have bad knees and I’m too old to bounce back quickly from landing wrong.”

 _I don’t know if I could make the jump,_ you admit. The band of cracks is _very_ wide.

“There’s an easy solution here, if you feel up to it,” Chara says. They turn to their partner. “Ree, carry us.”

Asriel snorts good-naturedly. “Okay, okay. There’s not much of either of you to carry, after all.” And he lifts Chara up in the crook of one arm, where they sit and preen like an ostentatious cat.

You hesitate a little when he extends his other arm to you, but Chara seems happy enough, so you lean against him and let him lift you. Asriel does so without much visible effort, as though you’re a lot smaller and lighter than you actually are.

He’s so warm and so solid that it makes your heart thump a little. It’s been a long time since anyone hugged you or picked you up.

You’re expecting him to take a running jump, so your heart thumps again and you gasp with wonder when he instead casually lifts into the air and floats over the cracks, easy as a bird on the wind.

“Showoff,” Chara says lovingly, and leans into his opposite shoulder as he touches down.

The puzzles return in the next room: First a simple one where you have to weigh a switch with a rock to clear the path, then a complicated cracked floor puzzle that Chara proclaims to be a nuisance and leads you across by the hand like the spikes, and then another one with rocks. You’re caught off guard by the one that talks; Chara tries very hard to hide their giggling but doesn’t succeed. Asriel shrugs at you apologetically, and you shrug back; in all fairness, the sign in the other room _did_ say three out of four.

You pass a room with a small mousehole and—unbelievably—cheese set out on a table for the mouse that you assume is inside somewhere. Chara wrinkles their nose at the cheese and walks faster; Asriel just lengthens his stride, but you have to jog to keep up with them.

They lead you left at the next crossroads, through a room where other monsters are going about their business. There are Froggits and a few other kinds of monster you’ve never seen before; Chara points them out to you as Whimsun, Loox, Moldsmal, Migosp, and Vegetoid. Each one has a proper sign name; you hope you’ll be able to keep all the new words you’ve learned today straight in your mind.

There’s another cracked floor puzzle past here; Asriel volunteers to take care of it, and you and Chara wait while he does. Your feet are starting to hurt—you hope you don’t have much further to go.

“Last one,” Chara announces when you enter the next room. “You just have to push the correct switches in the next three rooms, and we’ll be there. You can try this one if you’d like.”

It’s good to have something to do, so you nod and run to check the hint plaques.

The puzzle proves to be an easy enough one, and you come to another crossroads.

“Toriel and Asgore’s is that way,” Chara says, pointing to the hall on the left, “but there’s something you might be interested in straight ahead. It won’t take long.”

 _Okay,_ you answer. You really want to sit down, but you don’t want to be rude to Chara and Asriel after they’ve brought you all this way.

The straight path leads you out to a terrace overlooking a vast city built out of the same purple stone as the rooms and halls you’ve been traveling through. You lean on the rail to take your weight off your feet and stare, awestruck. Even though Chara said that monsters lived here, you’d been imagining small caves. It looks like Mt. Ebott is almost totally hollow on the inside; you think you can see shafts of dim light coming down from the cave ceiling, other little holes in the mountaintop.

“Chara and I live all the way out there,” Asriel says, pointing. You follow his muscled arm and clawed forefinger with your eyes, squinting. Is that the outline of another city? You think it might be, but it’s too far away to see properly. “It’s a couple days’ journey through the underground on foot, but we needed to make stops on the way back anyway. We’ll show you around so that you can decide where you’d like to live later on.”

Where you want to live. It sounds like much too big a decision for you to handle. You’re having trouble seeing beyond the immediate next step; planning for your future is too alien and tiresome to comprehend.

“You don’t have to decide now, of course,” Chara says. “Besides—you must be very tired. Let’s go get you a place to sit down and some decent food.”

They lead you back down the hall and around the turn; the walls open up to enclose a little courtyard carpeted in red leaves. A black, twisted tree stands in the middle of it all—you would assume it was dead, if not for the fact that it’s still got two leaves clinging to one withered branch.

Past the tree is a structure that looks very much like the front of a house, complete with windows and a front door.

“We planned to stay the night already, and I told my parents that we were bringing you,” Asriel says. “They’re both used to looking after fallen humans—we were Chara’s foster family, and my parents and the two of us have helped all the other fallen children find places to live. You’re more than welcome here with us.”

“Asgore and Toriel are both very nice,” Chara puts in. “You don’t have to worry about making a good impression or anything.”

You take a deep breath, hold it, and release it. Even if you are a little worried—there’s nothing you can do but keep moving forward.

 

 

The house you’re led into looks just like a human one, although the furniture is more monster-sized and the whole place itself is a lot cleaner than your house was. Everything is faintly golden here, and most of the rugs and ornaments are shades of red and orange. Something smells sweet here.

Right in front of you there’s a staircase leading down; to either side there’s a hallway. You point at the stairs and raise your eyebrows; Asriel sets his large hand on your arm and brings it back down to your waist, shaking his head.

“Those stairs lead towards the exit to Home,” he explains. “You probably shouldn’t go that way on your own—the forest outside is cold, and you could get lost. Besides, you definitely need to rest and eat something before you have any more adventures.”

You find that you agree with this very much, and you nod to show him so.

Chara stretches—you hear popping noises and wince a little—and then flaps a hand. “I’m going to our room to go change,” they say. “You were right, Ree, I really ought to have gotten out of this as soon as the address was over instead of being lazy and going right out to walk. If I leave my hair up any longer I’m going to get a headache.”

They turn down the right-hand hallway and open the first door, stepping into the room and then closing the door behind them.

Asriel’s hand rests careful on your shoulder. He points towards the left hallway. “Let’s get you a place to sit down and introduce you to my parents,” he says.

This hallway leads to what you assume must be the living room. There’s a dinner table with five chairs arranged around it, one conspicuously child-sized; there’s a bookcase and a stand for tools, a fireplace, and a big cozy-looking reading chair. This chair has a monster of the same kind as Asriel sitting in it—though when they see your arrival, they stand up and come to greet you.

“This is my mom,” Asriel says, extending an arm to present her. “Mom, this is Frisk. Chara found them at the usual spot.”

“Greetings, my child,” says Asriel’s mother. She’s a little shorter than her son, but she still has to bend down a bit in order to look you in the face without you getting a crick in your neck; she does this with a smile. “I am called Toriel. It is very nice to meet you.”

 _It’s nice to meet you too,_ you reply.

You look each other over. Toriel has the same white fur and floppy ears as her son, but her horns are a lot smaller and she doesn’t have the same big golden mane as him. Her eyes are darker, too, a reddish brown that you think is close to the color of Chara’s hair. She’s wearing a long bluish-purple dress with a flower print on the skirt and a knit periwinkle cardigan, held closed at the neck with a little golden pin that’s the same shape as the insignia on Chara’s robe. Maybe it’s the Dreemurr family’s coat of arms or something, though you don’t see anything that looks like a weapon in its design. There are glasses with silver frames perched on Toriel’s muzzle, and it’s so funny-looking on her monster’s face that you almost smile.

“You have done well to come all this way, my dear,” she tells you, and takes a step to the side. Her big paw hand settles very lightly around your shoulders, and she shepherds you forward. “Come, let us get you off your feet.”

You realize a second too late that she means to sit you in her own cushy chair, and you’re still signing feeble protests as your butt hits the cushion. Then you sink down and sigh. You know you ought to get right back up and sit on something that _doesn’t_ have fabric for you to get all messy and dirty and sweaty, but it’s just so _nice_ to be sitting down finally, and on something soft too. You only think to squeak in protest when Toriel begins to unlace your muddy boots.

“Do not give me that, my child,” Toriel says briskly. “You are all in. And would it not be nice to let your poor feet breathe for a moment? There.” She eases your right boot off and sets it on the wood floor, smiling up at you. The tips of her canine fangs poke out past her lips, which make that sort of cleft thing that a lot of animals’ do; her nose is all over fur, though, instead of damp skin like a dog or cat’s. You sort of want to pet it, except that monsters aren’t animals, they’re people. So you tamp down on that urge the same way you did with the one to touch Chara’s scars, and wiggle your toes instead. It is nice to be able to stretch them.

Toriel takes your other boot off and lines it up perfectly with the first, beaming.

“While Dad’s still looking after the tea, would you mind looking at their wrist, Mom?” Asriel asks. You and Toriel both turn towards him. “I did a little healing on it, but I didn’t feel experienced enough to really mess with it, just in case.”

Toriel swings her head back towards you. “What do you think, Frisk?”

You pause for a moment, uncertain, then extend your hand to her, pulling your sleeve up to give her easier access.

She undoes the bandages and examines your wound, clucking softly. “Come here, my son,” she says, beckoning, and Asriel crowds in too, kneeling on the floor with her in what you think is an effort to not box you in and panic you. “Watch how I do this, so that you will know how to care for this type of wound in the future.”

Toriel holds your arm between her hands, and magical light gathers in her palms, filling your wrist up with the same kind of heat that Asriel’s magic did. Since you’ve seen it once before and know what to expect now, you look over the two monsters’ heads and stare vaguely around the room, taking in more details. There are photographs hung up along the far wall, some too far to be distinct, others clearer. Some are in black and white, pictures of Toriel and another monster like her with bigger horns; others are what you imagine must be of Asriel and Chara as children, in faded color.

There’s a vase on the kitchen table filled with the same kinds of wildflowers you landed on. Maybe Toriel takes care of them.

“All done,” Toriel announces. You blink and look back down at the smiling monsters in front of you, dropping your eyes to your wrist. All that remains of your first failed suicide attempt is a pink scar, shiny against the olive of your arm.

She releases you, and with both your hands free, you sign _thank you,_ curling your toes in the feet of your tights.

“You are very welcome,” Toriel tells you, straightening up. She turns towards the hall you arrived in. “Ah—Chara, welcome back.”

You’re not sure if you would have recognized them without Toriel identifying them. They’ve taken the pins and wire out of their hair so that it hangs down to their shoulders, stripes of white every bit as thick as they’d been pinned back. They’re barefoot in a pair of beat-up jeans and knit green sweater. Only the braces on their hands and the pendant on their chest are the same.

“It’s good to get out of those robes finally,” they say, stretching. “Though I’m going to need a shower or something before bed. Frisk—I’ll show you where the baths are after dinner, all right? We can wash your clothes while you’re getting clean.”

“Oh—darn,” Asriel says suddenly. “Do we have anything for them to sleep in?”

“Your father and I still have your old clothes, dear,” Toriel responds. “If there is a set of pajamas Frisk likes, they can use those.”

You wave a hand to get everyone’s attention. _What are you talking about?_

“Oh, I apologize,” Toriel says. “If you are all right with it—if you do not have other plans—we would like you to stay the night. Unfortunately we do not have another room that we can spare for you, but Gorey and I are more than happy to get Chara and Asriel’s old things out to accommodate you. It is no trouble. I am so excited to have a child in the house again.”

From the way her eyes sparkle as she says it, you can’t really doubt it. You press your fingertips together for a moment, thinking over your confusion. _I still don’t understand why you’re all being so nice to me,_ you say at last. _This is so much. Even just explaining things and helping me get through the puzzles would have been more than enough for me. So…_

You look from one face to the next. Toriel’s expression is very calm—you think artificially so. Asriel’s brow is tight with pain under his bangs, and Chara is wearing that look again that’s not exactly concern but something close.

They’re the one who speaks, in the end. “It’s okay if you don’t get it yet,” they say, folding their arms. “It’s enough as long as you can tell we’re doing this because we really want to. Besides—if we’re a little pushy with making sure you have food and shelter and a tour of the underground, that’s less pressure on you to try to refuse it even when you do want it.”

Your chest jolts, and you have a sudden, sharp desire to hide. You feel somehow more naked than if someone had opened the door on you when you had all your clothes off.

Toriel gets to her feet. “Now, I must go and see to dinner. Be good, won’t you?” She beams, and off she goes.

You rub at your chest. That odd feeling still hasn’t quite passed.

Asriel sits on the rug, legs sprawled out so that you can see his paw pads if you tilt your head a little; Chara curls up in his lap and leans into his chest, closing their eyes. Asriel rests his chin atop their head. They both look—comfortable. Peaceful, even; this is probably the most relaxed Chara has been all day. They fit together with a long-standing ease—you don’t think you’ve seen your parents, or any of your classmates’ parents, look this natural. From the childhood photos on the wall, Chara must have been around your age when they fell; spending nearly thirty years growing up together and falling in love must do that, you guess.

Someone enters the room from the direction that Toriel left it, but it isn’t her: It’s the other monster from the photos, probably Asriel’s dad. His horns stick almost straight up and then swoop backwards, unlike Asriel’s, which slant almost straight back and only curve sideways. His mane is a lot neater than Asriel’s too, and looks combed and parted like human hair; he even has a beard. There’s some gray in it here and there, visible across the room but not as thick as the gray in Chara’s. He’s wearing a pink button-down shirt with the sleeves neatly cuffed and a very worn-looking pair of jeans. In his hands he’s balancing a tea tray, which he sets down on the table before approaching.

“Howdy, young one,” he says to you, smiling. His eyes are daffodil gold, mesmerizing and bright here in this underground world, warm like the furnishings. His voice is deep and his words are a bit slow and ponderous, like he’s chewing on them even as he speaks them. “My name is Asgore. It is very nice to meet you. I have brought a few different kinds of tea to drink while my wife makes dinner, and a plate of her best gingerbread monsters. I apologize if you cannot eat them—there are other snacks that I can find, if you would like.”

 _There’s nothing I can’t eat or really hate,_ you sign quickly. _Thank you very much for your hospitality._

Asgore chuckles. “You are a very polite youngster,” he observes. He takes one step, then pauses and picks the tray up again. “On second thought, I will carry this tray to you. It must have been very difficult, climbing the mountain and then navigating all our puzzles immediately afterwards. Your feet must hurt very much.”

 _Only a little,_ you say. _I was alright because Chara and—_ you frown, realizing that you never got his name sign— _A-S-R-I-E-L helped me._

“Is that so.” Asgore turns twinkling eyes on his son and Chara. “I am glad to hear of it. They’ve both grown into wonderful adults, and great leaders.”

Chara makes a noise of discontent, their eyes still closed. _“Asgore._ You’re being embarrassing.”

“May not a father-in-law express affection for his favorite foster child?”

“I’m your only foster child,” Chara complains, stretching slightly in their partner’s arms. They’re grinning, though, so you guess they’re just bantering for the sake of it. There’s none of that tension when your parents trade barbs, anyway.

Asgore gently sets the tray on the floor. “There is sugar and honey if you would like either, Frisk,” he says. “I have brought green tea, chamomile, Earl Grey, and oolong.”

You don’t know that much about tea, but you’ve at least heard of chamomile before, so you ask for it. He passes you the cup and saucer very carefully, making sure that you don’t burn yourself as you take it. He also passes around the gingerbread cookies at the center of the plate. They really are cut in the same shape as the Dreemurrs.

“One thing you can do is to dip your cookie into your tea,” Asgore tells you brightly, holding up one huge finger.

 _“Dad,”_ Asriel says.

“It is what I am told is a ‘life’s hack’,” he goes on. “It will make this pre-dinner snack much more ‘epic’. Is that not right?”

“Chara, why did we ever let Alphys show him the internet,” Asriel complains. Chara is too busy giggling red-faced into his chest to answer.

You hide your own smile behind your teacup. It’s so hot you almost burn your tongue, but it’s not bad.

 

 

Dinner is a thick vegetable stew with a slightly gingery taste and little blocks of tofu and cakes of fish meat bobbing in between the carrots and celery and pepper and potatoes. It’s not quite like anything you’ve ever tasted, but it’s incredibly filling, and instead of making you sleepy, you feel more energized with every bite. You do your best to pace yourself, but you wind up having three huge bowls anyway, and a slice of fresh-baked grainy bread each time. It’s nice going back and forth between the smooth soft vegetables and thick broth and the chewy bread with its tough crust and the seeds and grains inside it.

And for dessert, Toriel brings out a pie like nothing you’ve ever eaten. She says it’s butterscotch cinnamon, and it reminds you a little bit of pumpkin pie, but it’s so much sweeter—so sweet that even you can only eat a single slice.

Nobody asks you questions about the surface or expects you to talk about yourself unless you volunteer. Nobody asks with overweening patience what your _real_ name is because “Frisk” doesn’t count as one. You do get to learn Asriel, Toriel, and Asgore’s name signs, and Chara says that they’ll help you memorize the new signs you’ve learned today if you want.

Toriel asks Asriel how he’s doing on his paperwork, and when he groans and makes a pitiful expression at her, she chuckles and offers to help him. “You are so very like your father, my dear.”

Asgore spreads his big hands and nods. “We would have been lost without your good sense, Tori,” he agrees.

“Clearly this means that I am expected to step into Toriel’s shoes and pick up the slack?” Chara makes a face. “By all means, let me discuss in detail how deeply and earnestly I am _not_ looking forward to this.”

“Aw, that’s okay, Chara,” Asriel puts in. “You support me in plenty of other great ways. And you can always take up after Mom’s ex-general executive board position for the Royal Guard.”

“I thought I already had, Ree,” Chara says mildly, and all four of them burst out laughing.

They spend some time talking about a local aquarium, which you eventually gather is for water-dwelling monsters and not fish, and the progress of monsters moving there; then they talk about someone called Alphys and how “the machine” is doing. You sit back and let the words wash over you meaninglessly, taking comfort in the Dreemurrs’ concord.

Eventually Toriel spots you yawning, and she has Asgore and Asriel clear the table while she bustles off to fetch Chara and Asriel’s childhood pajamas. Chara leads you into the living room, where you both wait and drink tea.

“They might be a little large or small on you,” Toriel says when she brings the pajamas out for you, “but you can use whichever ones you like or are most comfortable.”

A lot of the pajama sets have very soft fabric, but some are of the bumpy weave you think is called a waffle print. One of those is pastel yellow with cheerful spring green stripes and a white daisy print, and you pick it.

“I’ll take you down to the baths then,” Chara says. “You don’t have to put your shoes back on, Frisk, it’s just a few hallways away.”

They lead you down the stairs and around a turn that you think you ordinarily might have missed, then past another turn and through a door to a huge, gleaming white bathroom with dark blue wall trim. There’s a separate shower and bathtub, each with shampoos lined up along the sides.

“Leave your clothes in a pile by the door when you’ve taken them off,” Chara says. “I’ll take them back up to wash so that they’ll be clean for you in the morning.” They show you how the bathtub tap works, and point out the shampoo that’s theirs, which you agree will probably work better on you than the kind for monster fur.

Going over all this reminds you of something, and you tug timidly at their sleeve. _Where’s the bathroom?_

“Next room over,” Chara replies. “Actually, I’d better warn you now so that you don’t think anything’s wrong and freak out later—monster food’s treated with magic and your body will absorb it almost completely because of that. As long as you’re drinking liquids you’ll still have to pee and all, but unless you’re eating handfuls of raw grass or mushrooms or something, you won’t poop. That’s normal.”

 _That’s so weird,_ you tell them, tilting your head in fascination. As full as your stomach is from all of Toriel’s food, you were sure you’d wind up having to go soon.

“Incredibly, that’s one of the things that gives humans most trouble adjusting here,” Chara says, shaking their head. “Everyone who ate regular meals before they came here remarked on it a lot, at least.”

You look at them, at their nonchalant expression, because the way they said that—sounds almost like—

“Do you need help washing your hair?” they ask, and you tell them you’ll be fine and decide to let it be.

Finally, Chara takes their phone out of their pocket and hands it to you.

“This is waterproof,” they explain, “so don’t worry about dropping it or holding it if your fingers are wet. If you need anything, speed dial Asriel—one of us will come help.” They show you how, and have you try to manipulate the phone’s touch screen by yourself. The interface is clumsier than you’re used to; it always looked a lot easier in old movies. But you manage to figure it out in the end.

They sweep out of the room, then, with a smile. You pinch yourself lightly. The phone is very solid in your hands: They’ll come to get this, you know, and that’s sort of a relief.

It takes a while for the bath to fill; you strip while you wait and leave your clothes where you were told. There’s a full-length mirror near the sink, and you look into it, frowning.

It’s you. Same old Frisk with their same old bowl cut and freaky pale eyes that you can’t open the whole way without tearing up and getting a headache from how bright everything is. Still skinny and gawky, ribs still showing if you twist your arms the right way. There’s still dirt under your fingernails and in the wrinkles of your knuckles.

But your scrapes and cuts are all healed, your wrist too. And your stomach is full for the first time in you don’t know how long. You pinch your thigh to remind yourself that this is all real, turn around, and shut off the water so that you can sink into the massive tub and clean up.

 

 

Apparently what Asgore and Toriel meant by accommodating for you is retrieving Asriel’s old twin sized bed from when he was your size from storage, cleaning it, and setting it in the living room near Toriel’s chair and the fireplace so that you’ll still be able to have a bed to sleep in despite all three bedrooms already being full. All you can do is gape in stupefaction, hands limp at your sides, Chara’s phone dropping from your numb fingers onto the floor.

It’s late and you’re too warm and tired to really protest as much as you should, and either way, Toriel bustles you into the bed before you can so much as muster your thoughts. Your shirt and shorts are folded in a neat pile on her chair; your tights and your bandage are still hanging up to air dry. Even your boots have been cleaned of muck.

Feeling very much that you’re intruding on a space that’s too good for you, you thank the Dreemurrs, wish them all a good night, and get into the bed.

When you finally give up on sleeping, you don’t even know how many hours have passed, just that the fire is burning low and you’ve rolled over more than ten times trying to find a more comfortable position. The mattress is wonderfully soft and the blankets are perfectly heavy, but you have a nasty feeling that you’re having so much trouble sleeping _because_ it’s so much nicer than the rain shelter bench or your floor pallet back home. It’s way too squishy and comfy. There’s one tiny wary little corner of your brain that’s halfway convinced that Toriel and Asgore and Chara and Asriel are going to burst back in at any moment and tell you that there’s been some kind of mistake, that you’re not really the human they meant to extend all this kindness to, and to send you on your way.

They can’t possibly really mean to be this nice to you. Or—worse, they do, because they have expectations, and when you can’t meet them they’ll get tired and kick you out.

You get up and are halfway to the front door, fists bunched in the bumpy waffle print of your borrowed pajamas, before you manage to convince yourself that it would be stupid to find that terrace and jump off to see if _this_ time it’ll kill you for real.

So you pace the living room in quiet feet instead. You go to look at the bladed tools in their stand, the pokers and the rakes, but every one of them has carefully rounded edges so that they’re all harmless. Chewing on your lip, you go to the kitchen and look through the drawers. There are no knives anywhere.

You consider Chara’s arms. If they used to live here, and if they used to hurt themself when they were your age too, maybe it makes sense that Toriel and Asgore keep all their sharp objects where a nosy kid wouldn’t be able to find them. So you sigh and go back to sit on the bed.

Maybe you just hit your head really, really hard when you jumped down the hole and you’re just hallucinating all these nice people. That makes more sense than a whole four grown-ups who are this ready to make room for you in their own personal space for no reason, right?

You get back up. Emotion’s raging in your chest, almost as powerfully as it was when you realized that no one was coming for you, and you let it carry you down to the opposite hall, let it buoy you up to knock on Chara and Asriel’s door before you can remind yourself not to bother them and chicken out.

There’s a grunt from the other side and a thump. “Just a minute,” you hear Chara say, their voice weirdly strained.

You clasp your hands at your middle and stand very still, starting to feel very very cold.

After what feels a lot longer than a minute but is probably just your nervousness playing tricks on you, the door opens just enough for Chara to slip out into the hall with you; they close it behind them immediately. They’re red-faced and disheveled-looking; their t-shirt and boxers look hastily pulled on.

“What is it?” they ask breathlessly, and your heart drops out of your body.

“Sorry,” you whisper, dry-mouthed with fear and humiliation. God, why didn’t you _think?_ There’s little more your parents hate than being interrupted when they’re trying to have sex. You’d be lucky to get off with just a clout to the head, if it were your mother answering that door instead of Chara. You hang your head further and cringe into yourself.

“Frisk,” Chara says very gently. Their hands reach for your shoulders, but pull away when you flinch. “It’s all right. Asriel and I weren’t doing anything that can’t be interrupted if you need help, okay?”

“Still sorry,” you mumble.

Chara’s quiet for a moment. “Let’s go to the kitchen and get a glass of water,” they say at last. “I’d invite you in, but I think we need to give Ree a minute or so to clean up first.”

You hide your face in your hands, nod, and let them lead you.

In the kitchen, they fill two tall glasses with water and hand one to you. You sign a small thank you before you accept it, and drink slowly. Chara downs the contents of their own glass in one long draft, head tilted back so that you can see their throat move; when they set it back on the counter, it’s empty.

You stand in silence for a while.

“Trouble sleeping?” Chara says at last.

You nod.

“Bed too soft?” they ask, and you nod again and set your glass on the counter.

 _That’s not just it, though,_ you admit with some reluctance.

Chara’s quiet for a long, considering moment. Then: “Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head vigorously, the ends of your hair whipping your face.

“That’s okay.” They reach for you again, and pull back on their own this time. “Are you—all right with being touched right now?” they ask, their words careful and formal.

It says so much, that they know to ask that, and you nod silently.

Chara’s fingertips touch your hair lightly, stroking your head. They lift their hand between pats instead of pushing your hair the wrong way or ruffling it, and you lean gratefully into the touch, closing your eyes.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” they ask, voice low.

You hesitate, knowing that you shouldn’t cause any more trouble than you already are, and think of the terrace again and shudder.

 _I just need to know you’re really there,_ you say at last, fingers shaking with the courage it takes to be so honest.

Chara appears to consider this. “Well,” they say at last, “tomorrow is going to be another long day. You’re going to need the rest. If you want, you can stay in our room tonight. Ree should be fine with it, and that way if you wake up you’ll be able to see us and know we haven’t walked out on you or anything.”

You should protest, say they don’t have to go so far just for you, that you’re being enough of a bother already. Instead you grab the side of their t-shirt and hang your head so they won’t see how dangerously close you are to tearing up.

Chara leads you back to their room like that.

The door is already open when you get there, and the lights turned low; Asriel is sitting sleepy-eyed and ruffled on the edge of the huge mattress in a pair of boxers and nothing else.

“Frisk will be spending the rest of the night in here,” Chara announces, patting your shoulder.

“Ah,” says Asriel, smiling. “Should’ve figured. They really are a lot like you at that age, huh.”

Chara crosses the room to slap lightly at his shoulder, making him chuckle. “You shut it,” they say tenderly. And to you: “If it’s too crowded, Ree and I will bring your bed in so that you can still be in the same room at least.”

If you sniffle a little, both of them graciously ignore it. You keep signing _thank you_ over and over even as Chara goes to shut the door and Asriel crawls under the covers, stretching out on his side facing you.

“You get the edge,” Chara announces to you. “Don’t want to box you in if you have to get up for any reason.”

 _Thank you,_ you tell them again.

“Don’t worry about it,” they say, sitting down on the mattress and stretching out before they roll up to Asriel’s side, pressed up close against him. It strikes you again just how comfortable they look.

You swallow hard and then swing yourself up next to them.

“Goodnight, Frisk,” Chara says, closing their eyes. “Asriel, get the lamp, would you.”

He reaches out without even sitting up and yanks the chain, immersing the room in comfortable darkness.

“’Night Frisk,” he mumbles, and puts his arm around Chara.

“Goodnight,” you say as quietly as you can, and run your fingertips up and down the bumpy weave of your borrowed pajamas to ease your thundering heartbeat.

You can hear both of them breathing, and Chara is a warm weight on the mattress next to you as you close your eyes.

 

 

(You sleep the soundest you have in a very, very long time.)


	2. may fortune favour the fuckups.

In the morning, you wake up with your head wedged up against Chara’s chest, their arms around your back and waist, and Asriel’s much heavier arm slung over both of you. It’s a little bit cramped, but very warm, and it’s so nice to be cuddled that you close your eyes and nestle closer instead of squirming away.

You’d stay like that for as long as you’re allowed, too, except that your bladder reminds you of what Chara told you about monster food and drink. And you _try_ to wiggle free delicately, you do, but as soon as you shift Chara stiffens and eases away.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Did I wake you?”

Chara sits up, strands of their hair standing out in cartoonish spirals in all directions. They yawn hugely and stretch, shoulders popping; the sleeve of their t-shirt rides up, revealing a thick brown scar along their upper right arm. Again you get that morbid urge to reach out and touch the mark: This one makes a shallow divot in their skin, like the wound was a very deep or serious one.

“It’s all right,” they say, yawning again. “I needed to wake up. So does this big lunk,” they add, turning to Asriel and poking him in the snout. “Ree.”

He groans, and the whole mattress creaks as he stretches. “Yeah, yeah.”

“So don’t worry about it,” Chara says, patting your shoulder very lightly. You try not to lean into their touch like a cat.

You collect your tights and bandage from the living room and retrace your steps to the bathroom to change there, to give Chara and Asriel their privacy if they want it. The magic that Asriel and Toriel did on your wrist seems to have really healed it—there’s no puffiness or pain in the mark left behind—so you roll your length of bandage up and stick it in your pocket with the Monster Candy that you’re saving for later.

By the time that you return to the main house, Toriel is up reading a newspaper in her chair, and Asgore is bustling around the kitchen, humming, probably making breakfast from the smell of something sweet there. Unsure of what you ought to be doing while you wait, you wind up loitering at the bookshelf, poking through the various titles. There are history books, cookbooks, picture books, a few novels… there’s one called _72 Uses for Snails_ with a very cracked spine. You wonder who it belongs to, or if the whole Dreemurr family are just snail lovers or something.

After ten or fifteen minutes, Chara and Asriel both trail into the room. They’re both dressed; Asriel is wearing a cable knit sweater and a long patterned skirt that looks like it’s made of some heavy fabric, maybe wool. Chara’s in jeans again with a long-sleeved shirt and cardigan. Both are wearing the same heart pendants as yesterday; you spot a thick gold ring on Asriel’s right ring finger that you didn’t earlier, and glance over to Chara’s. The ring fingers of both their hands are adorned, not just their left.

“Just in time, my dears,” says Toriel warmly, looking up from her paper. “Gorey is almost finished making pancakes.”

Breakfast is just as hearty as dinner was. You’re not sure where they got the fruit and nuts to bake into the thick stacks of buttermilk pancakes, or how they made the butter, but you’re definitely not complaining. You stack your plate high three times and slather on syrup and butter, eating as fast as you can without giving yourself a stomachache. If you could stuff your pockets full of pancake without the result being gross, you’d do it.

But Toriel collects everyone’s plates eventually, and you watch her mournfully while Chara and Asriel excuse themselves from the table.

Asgore smiles at you gently. “Do not worry, young one,” he says. “We will send you with plenty of snacks to eat on the way to Snowdin.”

 _Is that really okay?_ you sign, the need to accept any food when it’s offered to you losing to the need to make absolutely sure that you’re not being a burden or annoying anyone.

He chuckles. “It certainly is. Chara has explained to you about monster food, have they not?” He waits for you to nod, and then continues. “One of the other good things about how much magic is in our food is that it will never spoil. Of course, it may still be smashed or squished while being carried, so I think that we shall have Asriel carry most of your lunch things in his pack, but if you would rather keep a little in your pockets to save in case you are hungry later, Tori and I can put a few cookies in a baggie for you.”

You try to smile and thank him for his generosity, but again you get that feeling of naked helplessness. _How_ does he know that you would feel better to know this, and to have a stash of food in reserve?

The return of Chara and Asriel to the living room saves the moment from becoming any more awkward. Asriel has a monster-sized backpack dangling off one arm; Chara has a dark bundle tucked under their own.

“Dad, we’ve probably got to get going if we want to show Frisk all around Snowdin before it gets too late,” Asriel says.

“Of course,” Asgore replies, and up he gets, returning with your cookies. You put them in your pocket. You’re out of room in your right because of the candies, candy wrapper, and your newly clean bandage, so they go in your left instead.

Asgore and Toriel escort you all down the stairs and out along the path that leads to what turns out to be castle ramparts that overlook the city like the balcony that Chara and Asriel showed you yesterday.

“Do come to see us again soon,” Asgore says, embracing first his son and then Chara, finally extending one of his huge hands to clasp both of yours.

“We will,” Chara tells him. “Both of you are always welcome to come visit us whenever you want; you know that.”

Meanwhile Toriel nuzzles Asriel’s forehead, then leans down to bump her nose against Chara’s. “Of course we do. Perhaps we shall come to visit you soon.” She pats your head; you push into her palm as she strokes your hair. “Be good, won’t you?”

 _“Mom,”_ Asriel says. His tone is whiny, but when you look up at him he’s grinning wide. “Chara and me are like nearly forty now. We’re grown adults who can handle ourselves.”

“I know, but especially with Frisk in your care, it does not hurt to have a reminder,” she says, winking at you deliberately.

And the three of you turn and leave, ducking through another tall doorway.

To your surprise, you emerge in an earthy cavelike room resembling the hollow you fell into, and not more purple brick. Distant holes in the ceiling make small dapples of light on the ground.

“Here,” Chara says, and you turn to see that they’re offering that dark bundle to you. Mystified, you reach out, and touch thick knobbly yarn, soft and fuzzy and ribbed. You squish it in both hands as you accept it, and spread your hands wide: The fabric spools out with them. It’s a scarf, striped in light blue and navy.

When you look up at them and cock your head, they smile and shrug. “It’s cold outside,” they explain. “We can get warmer clothes for you later and I’d have knit you some mittens too if we’d had time to measure your hands, but for now you can at least take this.”

You make an attempt to wind the scarf around your own neck and shoulders; it’s a clumsy one, so Chara reaches in and helps while Asriel resettles his backpack properly. They do something to fasten both ends neatly at your chest, leaving your neck and shoulders covered and giving you room to duck your head and hide your mouth and nose in the fabric too.

 _Thank you,_ you tell them.

Chara shakes their head. “If it gets too cold, let us know,” they urge you. “Or just stick by Asriel—he’s fluffy enough.”

“So they say,” Asriel adds, chuckling. “I don’t mind.”

Up ahead, there’s a heavy double door with that same winged circle and triangles insignia stamped across it in black. Asriel walks ahead and rests a hand on it.

“Ready?” Chara says softly, holding out their right hand to you.

You take a deep breath and nod, clasping it in your left, and you walk forward together while Asriel pushes the doors open with a grunt of effort.

 

 

A blast of cold and another of brightness welcome you with equal, devastating, force as you step into the snow. Beside you Chara curses; Asriel’s great shadow falls over the both of you, shielding you from the light somewhat.

“You all right?”

“I _hate_ coming back out through here,” Chara grumbles. You squint your eyes open just a crack to see that their face is screwed up just as badly as yours is. They lift an arm and scrub at their eyes. Maybe they’re tearing up like you are, too. “God. Fuck whatever freak of genetics decided I could do fine with next to zero pigment in my irises.”

“Don’t swear in front of Frisk, hon,” Asriel chides, but the tone of his voice is indulgent.

“Shit,” Chara says under their breath.

“I don’t mind,” you say, soft, since you can’t use your hands anyway.

“There you have it,” Chara says, gesturing to you. Then you think they frown. “Frisk—are you okay? You look like you’re having trouble adjusting too. We can take more time if we need to.”

It’s still very painful to open your eyes more than a crack, but—didn’t Chara and Asriel say that they want to show you around more today? You don’t want to slow them down too much. And Chara’s having trouble with the light and the snow too. “’M fine,” you say, and do your best to smile.

“Okay,” Asriel says. He sounds a little dubious. “If you need a break, just let us know.”

You nod. His shadow recedes. You press your lips together firmly and shade your face with your arm so that it’s _almost_ bearable when you squint. Chara doesn’t let go of your hand, at least.

The snowy trail you walk down is framed to either side by very tall pine trees. It looks like pictures you’ve seen of boreal forests, and you wonder if you’ve somehow come out of the caves and into the other side of the world. It was spring outside, when you climbed Mt. Ebott, so you can’t have gone back to the surface, unless the underground is like a fairy kingdom where time passes differently inside and out.

But you also remember a school report one of your classmates did about complex cave systems that can house different biomes, so you guess that even not counting for the monsters’ magic, it’s not _totally_ impossible for there to be a forest inside the mountain.

“Be careful,” Chara says suddenly. “There’s a broken branch in the path.”

You trip over it a second later, only managing not to faceplant in the snow because of Chara’s arms bearing you up.

“Sorry,” they’re saying, breathless. “I should’ve given you more warning.”

“’S okay,” you mumble. You can’t very well tell them that you can’t possibly look straight down at the white ground without blinding yourself again, after all.

You come up to a dark pit with a thin bridge across it; Asriel jumps the gap entirely, and Chara leads you across single file, their hands in yours to keep you from slipping. Once you’re across, they drop your right hand, freeing you up to stuff it in your scarf. You don’t dare let go of Chara’s other hand now while you have to squint to be able to handle the brightness of your surroundings, but your fingertips are starting to get tingly with the cold. Your boots are tall enough that you’re not getting slush in them, but you do hope the walking will keep your legs from getting too nippy. Chara’s hand, their sleeve, and their wrist brace are warm, but their ring is already bone cold from the chill in the air.

The darkness of the trees recedes a little, and you enter into what you’re pretty sure is a clearing. Shading your eyes again, you squint around; there’s something like one of those festival food booths you see in anime and cartoons set up further in. There appears to be someone approaching you from that direction, too—someone tall and humanoid.

“Hey, Papyrus,” Asriel says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Your Majesties!!!” an energetic voice calls back. “How very good to see you both again!! Your royal address was excellent as always! Perhaps even greater than myself!”

“The only person who can outdo Ree in sincerity is you, after all,” Chara says to the newcomer. There’s real warmth in their voice—pride in Asriel and friendliness both, you think.

Shading your eyes, you squint up at the stranger. They’re—a monster that looks like a human skeleton, taller than Chara but still about a head or so shorter than Asriel. They’re barrel-chested and have skinny hips to go with their long thin limbs, a square jaw, and a surprisingly mobile face given that their face is, well, a skull. They’re wearing a red scarf, gloves, and boots, plus a breastplate with that winged circle and triangles emblem stamped on it in black and—for some reason you can’t discern—blue booty shorts.

The stranger—Papyrus, Asriel called them—frowns and bends down and sideways to get a closer look at you, too. “Oh. My. God,” they exclaim, clapping their hands to the sides of their face in comical excitement. “Is that a new human!!”

“That is indeed a new human,” Asriel says, and snow crunches under his paws as he steps aside so that Papyrus can see you. You hold Chara’s hand more tightly despite yourself, and Chara squeezes it back reassuringly.

“But!!” Papyrus exclaims. “That must mean—that I am the first in all of Snowdin to get to meet them! Wowie!!! Hello, small human!! I am the great Papyrus, newest recruit in the Royal Guard! And I am happy to have the very great honor of greeting you! And! Welcoming you to the forest of Snowdin! So, welcome!!!” Out comes the red gloved hand for you to take, its contrast against the white snowy ground positively eye-smarting. You put yours in its palm gingerly, and about have your arm pumped off as Papyrus shakes it effusively. “In case of concern, you may address me as Papyrus (additional ‘the great’ is optional), he, or ‘you there’!!”

Mercifully, he finally releases you. While you ought to be thoroughly rattled—you’re almost breathless, so bowled over by this reception—Papyrus is just so obviously, puppyishly pleased to see you that you can’t help but smile back up at him. You let go of Chara’s hand briefly to introduce yourself in return.

“Frisk?” Papyrus repeats, and you nod. Like Chara, he also practices your name sign; you smile and nod again. “That is an absolutely dapsolutely wonderful name! Welcome to Snowdin! I realize that I have said this already! But it is just that exciting. We have not had a new human here in several years, after all!”

“And thank god Frisk came with less fuss,” Chara murmurs under their breath. If Asriel and Papyrus hear them, both pretend not to, so you’re left alone wondering what they mean by that.

“Any way, it is my great honor to escort the three of you to town! Make no _bones_ about it, I will give you the _royal_ welcome that you so clearly deserve!” He halts, and squinting, you see him frown. “That is… if I may receive Your Majesties’ permission to leave my post?”

“Aw, I don’t see why not,” Asriel says, affable. “The rest of the Canine Unit’s out here too in case of any trouble, and it’s not like Chara and me are gonna tell Undyne on you.”

“Chara and _I,”_ Chara corrects absently.

“What they said.”

Papyrus goes off in transports of delight again, but this time it catches in your mind, now that you haven’t got a cheerful skeleton distracting you. You tug on Chara’s hand to get their attention, and wait until they’re looking down at you to let go of them.

 _What does he mean, ‘your majesties’?_ you ask them.

You think they raise their eyebrows at this, though it’s hard to be sure with your eyes nearly shut. “Hadn’t we said something already?”

“Gosh,” Asriel says. “I guess it must’ve slipped our minds. Um—hopefully this isn’t too awkward, then. Papyrus has the right of it. Chara and I are the rulers of the underground.”

You gape, you’re pretty sure. But—it does make sense. Chara had mentioned some sort of address, which you think is a fancy word for a formal speech like a president might make, and they had said _our_ kingdom. You’d assumed they meant it like _the kingdom where we live,_ but you guess they mean _our_ like _it belongs to us._

“I hope you’re not too underwhelmed,” Chara says, and you think you catch a little nervousness under their light and joking tone.

 _You two just seemed so normal and nice,_ you offer, face hot with embarrassment. _I’m sorry. I didn’t realize._

“You don’t have to be sorry—and you don’t have to worry about formalities,” Asriel says, crouching down a little—you guess he can’t just squat in the snow because it would soak the ends of his skirt. “We don’t stand on ceremony here. The underground is very small—everybody knows just about everybody.”

“We stand on principles!” Papyrus adds in. “Principles of friendliness, forgiveness, and spaghetti!”

You were expecting something else that started with the letter F, so the incongruity of _spaghetti_ startles a giggle out of you. Papyrus puffs his armored chest out with pride.

“I mean, he’s right to brag,” Chara says with a shrug. Even squinting, you can see their wide grin. “Papyrus cooks some of the best spaghetti in the underground. When we get to Snowdin we’ll have to see if we can impose on him for some.”

“But of course!!” Papyrus exclaims, striking a gallant pose. “Where else is there to eat in Snowdin anyway, besides (ugh) Grillby’s? How could a cool and charming skeleton such as myself claim the title of spaghettore extraordinaire if I let you go to THAT greasepit??”

“Sounds like it’s settled, then,” Chara says happily. “Let’s get going before Frisk freezes their poor nose off.”

“Oh, right!! That reminds me! HUMAN!!” Papyrus turns toward you pompously, extending a hand. “Allow me to guide you through the forest, and peruse our devious puzzles and japes!!! For they have been overseen by none other than myself, and they are sure to shock, amaze, and entertain you!!!! What do you say??”

“You don’t _have_ to do puzzles if you really don’t want to,” Asriel says. “Honestly, they’ll be there later to mess around with if you’d rather just get somewhere warm.”

“That is fair,” Papyrus muses. “After all, humans do not seem to be the most cold-resistant of creatures. The puzzles can be left for another day if that would be more convenient! I am nothing if not an accommodating guide.”

Honestly, you’ll be fine in the cold as long as you don’t get soaked; the scarf Chara loaned you is very warm. But you definitely don’t relish the thought of trying to solve puzzles with your eyes mostly shut.

Then again… Papyrus seemed so proud and excited, ready to show off his handiwork to you. And you know what it feels like, bursting to show other people something you’re proud of, only to be brushed off. If it will keep him happy…

 _I’d love to try the puzzles,_ you lie. It’s not a very _big_ lie—it might be fun, if not for how bright and horrible it is here.

“Hooray!” Papyrus shouts. “Then!!! Let us make haste to the puzzles! I shall do my utmost not to disappoint you!! Nyeh heh heh!!!”

He all but floats down the path ahead of you, and you do your best to push away the sinking feeling in your stomach as you take Chara’s hand and follow along.

 

 

Papyrus leads you further down the trail, marching proudly, his boots crunching in the snow. Despite your attempts at following him without shading your eyes, it doesn’t get any easier to see through the white of the snow all around you. You can’t keep your arm up to protect your eyes, though, because your fingertips are starting to become numb; you have to bury your hand in the scarf Chara gave you to keep it warm.

After some ten minutes or so of walking, you arrive at another of those wooden stalls. This one has two monsters at it: One black and white bipedal dog in a tank top, and another on the stall’s far side, too pale and too distant for you to make out clearly with eyes half-closed.

Beside you, you’re sure you hear Chara breathe in soft and quiet, but when you turn to them their expression is placid and neutral as best you can see.

“Ah! Here we have two of my fellow Royal Guards!” Papyrus announces, and trots over to say hello to the dog at the station.

“These two are Doggo and Endogeny, Frisk,” Asriel explains. “Doggo has trouble seeing things that aren’t moving, so be patient with him. Endogeny’s… well…”

“They are harmless,” Chara says. Their voice sounds somewhat stiff to you. “And quite sweet, actually. It is probably easiest to think of them as disabled, although their condition does not impede their daily life, per se. How they ended up like that is a long story that you will likely hear sometime later. It is just—” And they gasp and flinch, squeezing your hand so tightly your fingers throb: The big white monster, which was over by Papyrus and Doggo just a moment ago, has rushed—no, _hovered_ —over to you and is looming above you, emitting some sort of froth.

You think you let out a squeak of terror. You are _very uncomfortably_ aware that you’re a hairsbreadth from wetting yourself.

The big monster called Endogeny is _vaguely_ canine, but it has no face, only a gaping black orifice that drools black ichor. It twitches and shambles, legs detaching from its huge body and then sinking back into the mass of it with gentle _bloop_ s. Its surface seems vaguely runny. Its underbelly and shadow teem with the silhouettes of many smaller dogs.

“They tend to move very suddenly,” says Asriel, patting Endogeny. Its black drool turns into bubbling froth again, and it jitters in happiness. Asriel’s hand seems to _sink into it._ You shudder. “Chara, are you okay?”

You glance to the side, relieved for the excuse to not stare at Endogeny any longer. Chara is the palest you’ve seen them yet, wide-eyed, their free hand pressed to their chest. The hand holding yours is clammy, even in this cold. “Yes,” they say at length, and then take a deep breath. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

Some of the dog heads attached to Endogeny’s underside poke out into the open, blinking glowing white eyes, ears aprick, flicking out questing tongues.

“I know,” Chara croons, sighing, reaching out to pet them and scritch them. “It’s not your fault I’m like this. I know you just wanted to say hello. It’s okay.”

You reach out hesitantly to touch Endogeny’s front. All the hair on your back stands up. They’re not wet or sticky, but their flesh has a weird, porous texture, like damp putty or a fresh kneadable eraser. Your fingers sink into the upper layer, which melts and reforms around your touch, and you pull your hand back quickly.

The shadow dogs that Chara’s petting feel like proper dogs, at least; they shower your fingers and palm in damp licks that don’t leave any traces of saliva.

Together, you, Chara, and Asriel—mostly Asriel—escort Endogeny back to the station with Doggo, who now appears to be smoking (?) a dog treat (????).

“Good to smell you, Your Majesties,” says Doggo gruffly. “And you!” You jump to be addressed by this brusque guard dog. “Welcome to the underground, kid. Don’t mind my watch partner, here. I can always see Endogeny, and they can detect the things that I can’t. We’re a good team, and their bark’s worse than their bite.”

Endogeny makes a distorted _wrouf_ sound, and you find that you agree with this statement very, very much. They lay back down in the snow, and Doggo waves you onward; you wave back at him and smile, so that he’ll be able to see you all leave.

Once you’re well out of view, Chara shudders. “That was a disaster,” they mutter.

“Do you need to take a moment?” Papyrus asks; Chara squeezes their eyes shut and nods, letting go of your hand; Asriel reaches out to them, and they sink into his chest, hiding their face and taking deep long breaths.

Papyrus offers you his hand instead, and you take it. His gloves are big, but you can feel the bones of his fingers inside them, hard and narrow.

“Their Majesty is not fond of surprises, or sudden sounds and movements,” he explains to you at a much more subdued volume than his usual herald’s shout. It’s conversational tone, but from Papyrus it feels like a whisper. “They have never been for as long as I can remember, since I was just a baby bones, but they have gotten much better at handling such things.”

You squint at Chara, still counting their breaths up against their partner’s chest as he strokes their back and nuzzles the top of their head. If this is _better,_ you wonder just what Papyrus is comparing it to.

After another few moments, Chara shrugs out of Asriel’s arms, visibly more composed. “Right,” they say, “let’s be on our way.”

And you continue down the forest trail, you still holding Papyrus’ hand, Chara still sticking close to Asriel.

“Frisk!” Papyrus calls from beside you, suddenly; you turn towards him as you set your foot down, but then are sent skidding across some smooth slippery surface, yanked by momentum out of his grasp. You windmill your arms and try to keep your balance, but then run smack into something very solid, damp, and wooden. All the breath escapes you with a _whoof._

“Frisk, are you all right?!” Chara demands from further away.

You balance yourself on the—it’s a sign, you realize, blinking your watering eyes, and squint around at the ground near you to finally realize that you stepped onto a wide patch of ice. It stretches out to every side of you, too, dimly vanishing under the snow at the edges of your vision.

 _I’m sorry,_ you sign in Chara’s vague direction. _I didn’t notice._

“Fear not!” Papyrus cries. “I shall save you!” And he comes skating up to you, clearer and clearer; he scoops you up under one arm and slides to the far edge of the ice, setting you down gently in the snow.

 _Thank you,_ you tell him. Rapid crunching in the snow alerts you to Chara and Asriel approaching; they, still able to see in these conditions, appear to have gone around the slippery patch instead of across it like you.

“You’re not hurt?” Asriel asks, his big warm hands gentle along your back.

 _I’m okay,_ you say quickly. _Let’s keep going._

“Be careful,” Chara tells you. “We can try to warn you too, but we’re used to the icy bits around here, after all. There are a lot of them.”

Deep inside you’re wilting, but you try not to let it show on your face. _I’ll do my best,_ is all you can say.

“Well! Let us be on our way, then,” Papyrus announces, breaking the awkward silence. He takes your left hand, Chara holds your right, and with Asriel on your other side, you continue down the path. It would be like the Wizard of Oz, you think, if Papyrus were a bit more airheaded, Chara meaner, and Asriel more cowardly. And, you append with a small and bitter smile, if you had a home that you were longing to go back to.

You suppose you’d need an annoying dog to complete the simile, too.

 

 

The next area you enter has a perfectly square patch of cleared snow.

“This!!” Papyrus announces, puffing his chest out. “This is a quite devious and _shocking_ puzzle that I have created! It’s… well, it’s…” He deflates a little, glancing towards Chara and Asriel. “Actually, it is perhaps a bit too easy for the likes of Frisk! Yeah! We can’t use this one! I am a skeleton with standards and my cool new friend Frisk deserves _only_ the best!” He drops your hand and marches on, carefully avoiding the patch of cleared snow.

You look over at Chara to see them looking at Asriel, both of them shrugging.

Everyone crosses another one of those small narrow bridges, and you pass onto a tall plateau with the fuzzy dark green blur of what you’re assuming is pine trees thick all around it. Across another thin bridge, there’s a big snowball resting in another of those spaces cleared mostly of snowdrifts.

“Ah,” Asriel says. “Ball Game.”

“A time sink if I have ever seen one!” Papyrus proclaims. “We must hurry away so that we are not distracted.”

Chara must spot you frowning, because they squeeze your hand and explain. “It’s a game a bit like human golf. There’s a hole at the other end of the course that you’re supposed to knock that snowball into before it melts, and the game will rank you based on how long it took you and how accurate you were. It was set up to teach children about the seven different colors of human soul and their corresponding virtues, so if you’re weak to games where you can collect things, it’s easy to get stuck out here playing Ball Game until you can’t feel your extremities. Papyrus is right, we should give it a pass this time.”

You pull on their hand to get their attention. _The seven colors of human soul? Virtues?_

“Ree, would you do the honors?” Chara asks, and Asriel does— _something,_ you’re not sure, but there’s a feeling like your sternum popping, and then a brightly shining light appears in front of you and in front of Chara both. The lights take the shape of cartoonish red hearts.

 _What is this?_ you ask.

“Will you look at that, we match again,” Chara muses. “That, Frisk, is your soul—the culmination of your entire being. Usually it stays inside your body, unless you’re in a fight with a monster, or someone calls it up as Asriel has done for us just now.” They cup their hands around theirs and guide it back into their chest; you mimic them. “All monsters’ souls are white, but humans’ come in seven colors—good old ROY G BIV, except instead of blue and indigo it’s cyan and dark blue. Ours are red, associated with determination. The other six humans who live here have souls that are the other colors—orange for bravery, yellow for justice, green for kindness, cyan for patience, blue for integrity, and purple for perseverance. There are other differences between monster and human souls too, but if you want that lecture we can do it later.”

They begin walking again, and you follow them, traversing the length of the Ball Game course with Papyrus and Asriel in tow.

At the other end of the course, you come upon a lanky blue-furred monster in a gaudy yellow shirt, slouching despondent at what you think might be an ice cream stand. Their long rabbit ears are drooping dramatically.

“No customers yet today, huh?” Asriel calls, waving to the monster.

“Huh?” says the monster, one ear perking up. “Oh, hello, Your Majesties, Papyrus. I don’t suppose I could interest you in some Nice Cream?”

“I guess that’s a no,” Asriel says. “Sure, I guess we might as well, since we’re here. I’ll get a vanilla one, and Chara will have chocolate. Papyrus, Frisk, you want anything?”

“I shall have a mint bar, please and thank you!” Papyrus announces, raising his hand in the air jubilantly.

 _I… don’t have anything to pay with,_ you say lamely, looking down. It’s also a little too cold for ice cream right now, you think, though you keep that part to yourself.

“That’s okay,” Asriel puts in immediately. “I’m treating everybody.”

“We’ll have Asriel carry them too, since Nice Cream won’t melt for hours even if you’ve got it in your backpack,” Chara jokes. “Come on, Frisk, take a look at the menu. We can eat them once we get to town.”

You raise your head. It’s the vendor monster’s expression that decides you in the end: Their ears are standing straight up in their excitement, and they’re beaming at you hopefully. You can’t say no to an expression like that, any more than you can say no to free food, even if it’s not actually free and even if you feel guilty about that despite Asriel’s position presumably meaning he’s got deep pockets.

So you take a step closer to the ice cream cart. Your shadow falls across the menu tacked to the front, making it a little easier to read; you turn shyly to Chara and tell them that you want a strawberry one.

The blue-furred bunny hands over four wrapped ice cream bars to Asriel with a cheery “Have a super duper day!”, and your party moves on again.

Near a cliffside, there’s a pair of small tables—one with, of all things, a microwave sitting on it. The other one bears a plate of what you think—you have to squint and lean in because the absurdity makes you doubt your vague eyesight—is a frozen plate of spaghetti.

“Ah! That is the handiwork of the great Papyrus!” your skeleton guide announces. He sounds incredibly proud of himself. “I have donated it to the public!”

Proceeding down the path, you think you hear a very quiet squeak.

 

 

The next area is the top of another big plateau, where Papyrus says there should be another, proper puzzle for you to try. However, when you arrive, the barrier blocking passage to the road ahead has already been taken down; there are a pair of monsters there. They must have gotten here first.

Both of them are wearing black tracksuits with hoods up, and are carrying huge halberds. As you draw closer, you can see that they’re both white dogs. They each have the other’s portrait on the front of their jersey.

“Excellent, dog marriage,” Chara says. They sound like they mean it, too.

Though Papyrus huffs that his fellow guards have taken all the fun out of this leg of your journey, he doesn’t protest when Chara releases your hand to go jog up to the pair of them for hugs and to pet their faces. Both dogs are wagging their tails frantically by the time that you catch up.

“Frisk, I’d like you to meet Dogamy and the Dogaressa,” Chara says, gesturing to each dog in turn. “They’re part of the Royal Guard, and are the foster father and mother of one of our fellow humans.”

The two guards lean down to sniff you instead of trying to shake your hand; you wonder if they, like Doggo, have better noses than they have eyes. The one Chara called Dogamy has a scruffy mustache; Dogaressa has long eyelashes.

“Nice to meet you, Frisk,” says Dogamy.

“(Nice to meet you, Frisk!)” Dogaressa agrees. Her cold nose snuffles a moment longer at your forehead. “(It’s been a few years since we’ve smelled a new human child here in the underground.)”

 _You adopted one of the others? What are they like?_ you ask.

“Frisk wants to know about Rufus,” Asriel translates. It surprises you for a moment; then common sense kicks in and you realize that of course they would have trouble understanding sign, if they’re like Doggo and real dogs.

“Our son is a Royal Guard too,” Dogamy says proudly. “He should be on duty closer to town, so you should meet him along the way.”

“(It’s good that the fallen humans “stick” together,)” Dogaressa adds. Her tail wags. “(If you pick up any good sticks, come play with us later when we’re off duty. All of you are free to join in.)”

You bid the dogs goodbye and continue along your trail, stopped by another puzzle.

“Finally!” Papyrus cries, triumphant. “Here is a puzzle that you may see to unhindered! All you must do to open the way is turn all the Xes into Os and hit the switch!” He plants his hands on his hips and waits by the roadblock; Chara and Asriel wait with him.

You pace the area carefully, squinting at the ground the whole way, not wanting to miss anything. There are two blue Xes on the ground; prodding them with the tip of your boot turns them into much-harder-to-see red Os. The switch Papyrus mentioned is hidden behind a low lumpy wall of snow, and compresses once you’ve rested your full weight on it. The roadblock retracts with a satisfying click.

“Splendid!” Papyrus trumpets. “Now!! By all means let us progress!!!”

The next area has another switch on the ground and lanes of lumpy snow walls, patterns of what you’re pretty sure are Xes in between them. Your stomach sinks.

“Now then, Frisk!! As you made such short work of the other puzzle! I am quite sure that this one will be an exciting challenge for you! I arranged the snow in the shape of my face for extra flavor, you know,” he says, and he just seems so _proud._ “Have at it! Though—if you get stuck, you may always come to me for a hint!”

You approach the snarl of Xes dubiously, squinting. If only you could see, and if only everyone wasn’t standing there watching you, this might be fun to devote the time to, you think. As it is, though… How long is it going to take you, having to essentially guess and feel your way through? Even hiding your hands in Chara’s scarf isn’t saving them completely from the cold, and you’re really starting to wish you had long pants to wear. It’s not so bad when you’re with everyone else since Asriel is so warm, but you know that you’re shivering.

Maybe you ought to at least try first, but… if you get started you won’t be able to give up halfway until you get the right answer. So you squeeze your own hands together at your waist, then turn back around.

 _I think this one might be a little bit too hard,_ you sign, and hang your head. _I’m sorry._

“Gosh, you don’t have to be sorry,” Asriel says. “It’s a good thing to be able to admit when you can’t do something, instead of getting in over your head.”

“There is a convenient switch hidden in one of the tree trunks here, anyway,” Papyrus says. “I shall just go press that and we can be on our way!”

Still, you don’t move from where you stand until Chara takes your hand and pulls you along.

“This next plateau ought to have Dr. Alphys’ randomized multicolor tile puzzle, but…” Papyrus sighs tragically. “It is very difficult to get hold of Mettaton lately unless one books an appointment ahead of time. Truly, it is a trial for him to sacrifice so much as our sexy robot star!!”

“If you want, I can ask Alphys to figure out another way to generate those things without having to use Mettaton to run them,” Asriel offers. This plateau has another one of those thin bridges that only one of you can cross at a time, so he and Papyrus wait on the other side as Chara leads you. “It might be a fun project for her to use as a break from her work on the machine.”

“God, don’t, those things hurt my eyes. And they’re a real pain to get through every time since you can’t just memorize a solution,” Chara grouses.

“Your Majesty,” Papyrus says, almost comical in his seriousness. “Is this how you behaved when the former queen gave you a puzzle?”

“She didn’t, mostly,” Chara replies in a very dry tone.

“Well, I think that you could stand to pause and smell the puzzles from time to time.”

Chara waits until you have your feet safely on the ground once again to release your hands and turn around, sniffing loudly. “Smells like wet Ree and even wetter dog,” they proclaim. Asriel snorts, and you smile to yourself. Papyrus rattles his bones.

The trail ahead opens up to another guard station, where a fluffy white dog in armor and a human in a black tracksuit are making snow statues. They both notice you at the same time, and come running up side by side: The dog makes a beeline for Chara, who drops your hands to pet it, while the human slows to a stop before you.

“Frisk, right?” they say, grinning. “I’m Rufus. I’m in the Royal Guard—I alternate shifts here in Snowdin and Hotland. Nice to meet you, kiddo.”

Dogamy and Dogaressa called Rufus their son, so it’s he, then. When he sticks his hand out, you take it.

He’s not that much taller than you—maybe half a head at most—though he’s definitely acting older. He’s got a riot of red curly hair, warm brown skin, and startlingly bright green eyes; the other things that stand out most about his face are his thick eyebrows, button nose, and easy smile. He looks like someone who’s funny and charming and knows it.

“So you already heard about Frisk then,” Asriel observes.

“Papyrus _may_ have texted the whole Snowdin guard on your way up here,” Rufus says, his grin widening.

You turn to squint at Papyrus, who doesn’t even look abashed. “We have a new human! It’s very exciting!! Everyone must be informed of this development immediately!!!”

“Well, okay,” Asriel says. “It does mean that they won’t be startling anyone, so that’s good, I guess?”

Rufus releases your hand, giving you room to speak. There are a lot of questions you want to ask—how and why he came here, if he’s happy living in the underground with the monsters—but it’s too hard to try to think of how exactly to phrase them in a way that won’t potentially upset at least one member of your party. _Is it fun being a Royal Guard?_ you ask at last.

“It’s fun enough,” he answers. “The routine can get kinda boring and all, but combat training and helping people are always fun. Not that we actually _need_ the combat training for much,” he appends. “We only actually had to fight somebody like once. And even then Chara took care of things in the end.”

_Chara did?_

“Yep,” Rufus tells you. The grin is back. “They’re technically in charge of all us guards, you know?”

“They learned to fight directly from the former king together with our captain!” Papyrus supplies helpfully.

You wonder a little about that. You know that Chara can be firm, and come to think of it they do carry a knife everywhere, but it’s hard to picture them fighting anyone—they’re old with creaky joints, and they’re too nice.

“Both my parents are in the Royal Guard, though, so I wanted to do the same thing they did,” Rufus goes on. “Kinda like tradition, but more fun than puzzles.”

_You don’t like puzzles?_

“Rufus is the kind of person who charges fists-first through everything in life,” Asriel says mildly.

“Alas, puzzle-hating is his only real flaw,” Papyrus says, striking a pose. “Though I suppose that puzzles aren’t for _everyone.”_

“You guys are making me sound like an idiot.”

“We are not!” trumpets Papyrus. “You are merely impatient. In fact you are quite intelligent and have taught me everything I did not learn from Undyne about being a good Royal Guard. You were (and are) a very excellent mentor! I will enjoy puzzles enough for both of us!”

You tilt your head a little in fascination. If Rufus was Papyrus’ mentor in the Royal Guard, either Papyrus is younger than you thought, or Rufus is older.

Rufus shrugs theatrically. “Well, if you guys are headed to Snowdin Town, I might as well tag along the rest of the way. Lesser Dog can hold down the fort here. It’s not every day we get a new fallen human here—I wanna get to know Frisk a little better when I’ve got the chance.”

“And that’ll give you extra time to go see Innig once she’s off her own shift,” Asriel says, and Rufus sputters. He grins. “Can’t say I blame you—I used to do the same to see Chara, before we started working together.”

“You are a heartless bully and I shun you,” Rufus says primly, turning away.

“If you are all quite done with your theatrics,” Papyrus says, “more puzzles yet await! Come! Chara, please give Lesser Dog a rest!”

There’s a guilty pang in your belly at his words. You’re cold, and you’re starting to get a little hungry, but it’s nice standing around while everyone banters, soaking in the camaraderie and not expected to perform even though you can’t see what you’re doing.

To protest would be to give yourself away, though, so your hands stay limp and silent in Chara’s scarf as Chara themself is persuaded to stop petting Lesser Dog (you think their name was—is it your eyes playing tricks on you, or is their neck longer than it was when you arrived?) and join you, Asriel, Papyrus, and Rufus in your onward march.

 

 

“Fear not, Frisk!” Papyrus says cheerfully, gesturing to the puzzle behind him. “The previous puzzle may have proved too fearsome for you, but! Here is a fresh opportunity to try again!!”

“If you don’t feel like doing the puzzle, you can always just get a running start for some momentum and jump across the gap to the tunnel like a Sonic game,” Rufus suggests with equal cheer. “There’s just soft snow underneath anyway, it’s totally safe even if you beef it.”

“Jock,” Chara says with loving condescension.

 _“Or_ you could play it safe and pick your way across all the Xes like Mx Stodge over here,” Rufus says, sighing. “Whichever way’s more fun for you, I guess.”

“As much as I would like to attempt parkour, _some_ of us have shitty joints that just keep getting shittier the older we get.”

“Don’t swear in front of Frisk,” Asriel interjects, patient.

“They said they don’t care,” Chara protests, mutinous.

“Chara, you’re only, like, eight years older than me,” Rufus whines. “That’s way too young to be talking like an old person.”

“Thirty-eight is far enough into middle age that I still feel justified. My skeleton sounds like rice krispies every morning. It’s not supposed to. I doubt a healthy person like you would fully understand.”

“Okay, fair.”

“Also, thirty is also old enough to count as middle aged, at least as the animes would have it.”

“If you keep talking like that, you’re gonna encourage that awful robot pop star in thinking that anime is an accurate representation of human culture. Astis _barely_ managed to talk him out of actually making burgers out of glitter to duplicate shoujo sparkles.”

You let Chara and Rufus’ back-and-forth wash over you meaninglessly as you stare past Papyrus’ winningly outstretched arm to the puzzle behind him.

It’s another Xes and Os puzzle, but this time all the Xes and the switch to open the rest of the path are positioned along a big patch of ice. There’s a sheer drop on all sides, if you’re to slide off, and the bottom of the hill is a long way down, forgiving snowdrifty cushion or no.

You can’t do this. You absolutely cannot do this. Maybe if there weren’t ice you would be fine, but having to try to slide in exactly the right directions while you can barely see the signs you’re stepping on or where you’re going at all? You _can’t._ Especially when the penalty for getting it wrong means falling.

But you’ve let Papyrus down once already, and he’s so optimistic in his belief in you. What you’re _supposed_ to do is just go out there and get it right quickly so that you can move on. Not be a burden. Not cause anyone unnecessary trouble.

Though you know this, you can’t force your legs to move. You just hang your head and hide your face and hands in the scarf that you don’t deserve.

“Frisk?” Papyrus prompts, and to your distinct shame, your nose and eyes go hot and itchy with the urge to cry.

“Whoa… hey, what’s up?” Rufus asks. Now the others have noticed, too; you just want to lie down, curl up into the snow, and never move again until you die of exposure.

“Frisk, is something the matter?” Asriel asks. You don’t know what to say. So you just keep quiet, wishing even more fervently to disappear on the spot.

There’s a soft crunch of snow, and you watch Chara’s red sneakers step into view, their scuffed white toes intruding past the safe curtain your bangs make, cutting you off from the bright outside world.

They sink down to their knees in the snow, then, putting themself at chest level for you, staring directly into your face in a way that you can’t ignore.

“Frisk, look at me,” they say very softly, and you find that you can’t disobey. “Do you have a headache?”

You shake your head no.

“Then… is it too bright here?” they ask.

Your mouth drops open. _How could you tell?_

“I couldn’t at first,” they say. “I noticed then how much slower you’ve been at these puzzles compared to the ones in Home, and that you’ve been squinting. Your eyes are pretty pale too, aren’t they? So if you’re light-sensitive like me…”

 _I’m sorry,_ you sign quickly.

“That’s not your fault,” Rufus says.

“I apologize for pushing you, even in ignorance,” Papyrus says.

“We’re pretty close to Snowdin,” Chara tells you. “Ree can carry you the rest of the way, so you can close your eyes. And there’s something that we can do to keep this from happening—we can get you glasses with tinted lenses so that it won’t blind you to be in bright places.”

 _You don’t have to go to so much trouble for me,_ you say desperately. _I’m sorry. You don’t have to mind me._

“It’s not trouble, Frisk,” Asriel says gently. “It’s like—like Chara’s braces. Just little things to help you. They were made to help people with just this kind of problem, and they’re so easy to get hold of, so why not take advantage of them? We’d be happy to help, if you’re okay with letting us.”

“And, Frisk…” Chara continues when you don’t interject. “If something else like this ever happens again… You can let us know. It’s okay to ask for help. We may not realize that something’s wrong in time to avoid hurting you—just like now.”

 _It’s okay,_ you try to say.

“It isn’t okay,” Chara says firmly. Their eyes track back and forth over your face. “Nobody here wants to hurt or inconvenience you, even if we don’t mean to. If we are, then you can _always_ tell us. We want to know. We want to help you.” They reach out very gently so that their hand hovers at the side of your face, like they want to cup your cheek but don’t want to force their touch on you. “Understand?”

You nod. You don’t think you’ll be able to do it—you still can’t be sure that Chara’s pretty words aren’t just lip service. But you understand.

They smile. The corners of their eyes crinkle. “Good,” they say, and push themself back up on their feet with a grunt. “Papyrus, would you…?”

“Absolutely! Watch a master at work! Nyeh heh heh!!” And he springs into action immediately, slicing across the ice with the precision of a figure skater.

“Here,” says Asriel. He’s got his arms out to you when you turn. You should really tell him no, you’ll be fine, but your legs are freezing and you’re so tired and cranky and you really, really don’t want to think or walk at all anymore today, so you sign _Sorry_ one more time and let him lift you. His arms are so big. You’re practically baby-sized, held up against his chest.

You tuck your face into the front of his sweater and close your eyes.

“Hey—Prase?” you can hear Chara saying distantly. Silence. “On your way back from work, would you mind doing me a favor?” A pause. “Yeah. Could you pick up some kids’ glasses with those lenses that darken in bright light? Yeah… yeah, thanks. We’ll be at your place until late probably—yeah, we’ve got reservations at Snowed Inn. See you soon. Yeah. Bye.”

Underneath the frustration, underneath the bitterness at yourself—there’s something tender, something ticklish and almost embarrassing deep down in your heart. You take a deep breath and try to shove it down back wherever it came from, squaring your shoulders even curled up as you are in Asriel’s arms.

 

 

Rufus parts ways with your small party at the edge of town, saying that he needs to get back to his post now that he’s seen you to Snowdin successfully. You keep your face tucked into Asriel’s chest the whole way. Now that you’ve been caught out, it’s probably easier to obediently let yourself be babied along instead of toughing it out and potentially offending everyone.

At last you hear a door opening, and Asriel steps with you over a threshold into a warmth that makes your fingers and toes tingle.

“Welcome!!!! To the home of the great Papyrus, and his equally great siblings and father!!!!” Papyrus announces.

“It should be safer for you to look now,” Chara says, and you turn your head slightly.

The inside of the house has mauve walls and a blue carpet with wavy patterns. It is a lot better than outside, but maybe you’ve just been straining yourself too hard. The floor’s pattern seems to swim and buzz, making your head throb.

“Still overloaded?” Chara asks, so maybe your expression gives this away. “Let’s get you settled down somewhere with some blankets, to stay warm and dark.”

Asriel brings you to sit on the couch, then leaves for what you think must be the kitchen with Papyrus, talking to him about spaghetti. You close your eyes and hide your face in your arms. Chara and another set of footsteps return a few minutes later, draping you in blankets; they sit down next to you, and whoever else is here sits with them. It’s very quiet, aside from the distant, soft sound of a television turned low, and the sounds of clattering and clanking that must be Asriel and Papyrus cooking.

The blankets are very heavy, and you wriggle in them until you’ve wrestled them into a snug cocoon for yourself, then relax with your head on the sofa arm. It’s nice, after all that walking and the stress of the puzzles, to just lie still in a warm place.

You’re honestly not sure how much time passes while you do your best blanket chrysalis impression, because you spend most of it jiggling your foot and humming tunelessly under your breath, spacing out. Eventually you feel better, more aware, and less ready to bite or burst into tears, so you turn over in your blanket nest and poke your head out over the top.

Chara is holding an animated conversation in sign with another skeleton monster, who’s sitting on their other side. This one has a long thin frame and sharp narrow shoulders, a long black robe over a white turtleneck, spindly fingers and thin fractures along their skull—one scar reaching up over their cranium and the other curving up their jaw. There are neat circular holes in their palms and ghostly lights in the depths of their eye sockets like pupils.

Since they are facing in your direction, they notice you’re up before Chara does; their gaze settles on you, and then a beat later Chara turns too. They reach out gently and pat your shoulder through the blankets.

“Feeling better?” they ask. Too lazy to extract your hands from the warmth of the blankets quite yet, you just nod. They smile, soft, and say, “I’m glad. Allow me to introduce our host—this is Dr. W. D. Gaster, who mostly goes by his surname. He used to be our Royal Scientist, but he retired the same year Asriel was crowned and has been enjoying his single house parent life since.”

 _It was good to have the time to spend with my children,_ Gaster signs. _It’s very nice to meet you, Frisk._

 _It’s nice to meet you too,_ you answer, finally relenting and pulling your hands up above the blankets. _Are you Papyrus’… dad?_

He chuckles (you’re pretty sure from his smile and the movement of his shoulders, anyway, because it doesn’t make any sound at all). _Yes. I believe I may owe you a bit of an apology for his enthusiasm. He enjoys his job and hobbies very much, and takes them very seriously; he does tend to overwhelm sometimes._

 _It’s okay,_ you say. _I would’ve had fun, if not for…_ You shrug, self-deprecating.

“Which is our fault anyway for not noticing,” Chara says.

 _We may play a game of hot potato with blame all we like, but I doubt we will come to any sort of satisfactory conclusion,_ Gaster puts in. _Blame lies with everyone and no one at once. Besides, I make a very poor participant for hot potato._ He spreads his hands demonstratively, making sure you can see the holes, and you giggle a little.

“Ree and Papyrus are off making dinner,” Chara tells you. “They should be done by about the time Papyrus’ siblings Sans and Prase come home.”

 _Are they in the Royal Guard too?_ you ask.

 _No, those two followed me into my own field,_ Gaster tells you, smiling with a warmth that you only realize belatedly is pride. _They are both assistants to the current Royal Scientist._ A pause. _Perhaps I should clarify that—_ you don’t recognize the sign he uses here, and he must note your confusion, because he pauses and finger-spells out _P-R-A-S-E_ before continuing— _is her assistant. Sans_ (he spells out _S-A-N-S_ ) _is her rival._

Chara snorts. “Self-proclaimed, anyway.” To you they say, “The Dreemurrs and the Gasters are pretty close, since Gaster worked with my in-laws to create our energy system underground. Prase is my best friend, Sans is one of my and Toriel’s terrible pun buddies, and Papyrus is like Asriel’s honorary nephew. Sans picked up baking from Toriel too.”

 _Did Papyrus learn to cook from Asriel or Asgore then?_ you ask.

 _No, he learned from one of his friends, a chef at a popular hotel near the capital,_ Gaster explains. _He is currently teaching his boss in the Royal Guard how to cook, too. I never managed to master much more than competently preparing frozen food, so I can’t even begin to express how proud I am that my sons have surpassed me this way._

“The underground’s pretty small when you get used to it,” Chara says. “Just about everyone knows just about everyone else, even if it’s just the way you’d vaguely recognize other people who went to the same school as you.”

Maybe there are fewer monsters living here than you thought. Either that or everyone here has better memories for names and faces than you do. You’re not sure which is likelier, but the latter is less troubling, so you’d prefer it.

You hear claws on linoleum and turn, craning your neck. Asriel is emerging from a door on the same side of the house as the front door; you notice that he has to be careful to not bonk his horns on the doorframe. “Spaghetti will be served in about ten more minutes,” he announces.

“Is this our cue to get ready so that we don’t regretti?” Chara asks dryly.

“Yes, but I’d spare Papyrus from the puns and the dank memes if I were you. He’s had to deal with you and Sans and Mom his whole _life._ Give him a break and a chance to make his own bad jokes for once.”

Chara gestures at him and looks at you as if to say _can you believe this guy?_ but Asriel just disappears back into the kitchen, not giving you time to react.

Reluctantly, you wiggle and turn so that you can stretch your legs out over the edge of the sofa. The TV is still on, and you give it a cursory look; there’s some sort of game show playing, but you can’t tell what it is or what the rules are with the volume so low. The host looks so human that you almost mistake them for one, but when the camera switches to a close-up of their face, you see that it’s made of metal.

Rufus said something about an “awful robot pop star”; you wonder if this is who he meant, or if there are lots of robots here underground. You can’t even venture a guess.

The front door opens again, and you retract your legs back under the blanket against the blast of cold. Two people walk in—another skeleton, short and just a bit squat, and a human, who closes the door again behind them.

 _“Finally,”_ Chara says from beside you; in your peripheral vision you can see that they’re grinning almost as hugely as they did yesterday when Asriel met up with you. “The two of you were in danger of missing dinner.”

“Eh,” says the skeleton, shrugging. “If Pap won’t wait for me, I can just mosey on over to Grillby’s. We all know that’ll get his goat.”

The human brings their hand down very gently atop the skeleton’s head in a mock karate chop. “Stop going out of your way to annoy him,” they say, like this is an old exchange worn smooth with tradition. “Goodness knows you don’t have to try to.”

Both of them walk further into the house, giving you a better look at them. The skeleton has a wide grin and the same ghost lights in the back of their eye sockets as Gaster, and is dressed in a hoodie, sweatpants, and flip-flops, with a white coat thrown haphazardly over their shoulder. The human has short fire-red hair, the shaggy few inches of a pixie cut growing out, and light gray eyes. They’re a very pale white and have a thick smattering of freckles across their face; they’re wearing a Y-shirt and dark pants under their white coat, with a slightly faded red ribbon fastened at their collar instead of an actual tie.

The human comes to a stop in front of you and reaches into their pocket, pulling out a small oblong case that they hold out at you. “I’m Prase, and this is my brother Sans,” they say. (Sans waves to you with a low “’Sup.”) “Welcome to the underground, Frisk.”

Hesitant, confused, you reach for the case. Prase sets it firmly in your hand with a little pat. It has a smooth cool feel under your fingers, like patent leather, but it doesn’t smudge. You look back up at them in place of actually asking them if it’s really okay to take this, and they raise their eyebrows at you and nod.

You take a deep breath and crack the case open; there are a little pair of glasses inside, oval-shaped, with red wire frames.

“If you don’t like the colors or they don’t fit right, we can get you another pair when we go through Hotland,” Chara says. “We’ll get you a phone then, too.”

You look up at Chara—at Gaster, at Prase, at Sans, and your vision blurs. You shake your head. You want to tell them that this is far too much for you, but your hands are occupied, and your voice won’t work.

Chara’s hand pats your head gently, and they wipe your cheeks dry with the backs of their fingers. “At least try them on,” they say, all kind practicality.

You wipe your own face this time, and carefully unfold the glasses, hooking the arms over the backs of your ears and pushing them up the flat bridge of your nose as far as they’ll comfortably go.

They don’t make the room any clearer or fuzzier, and they’re cold and slightly ticklish where they sit on your skin. But their lenses have started to tint just a little in the light of the house, and when you look at the TV you find that you don’t have to narrow your eyes at all against its glare.

What you’re feeling must show on your face, because all four of the adults are smiling as they watch you. Even so, you have to swallow a protest before you can smile hesitantly back and say _Thank you._

“You are very welcome, of course,” Chara replies.

Gaster stands. _Come now, Sans, let us get the table out and ready._

“Sure,” says Sans. “After all, we’re gonna need a _leg to stand on_ if this dinner’s gonna work out.” Chara snorts, and he spreads his hands wide, grin widening. “Eh? Eh?” You look down to hide your own smile. “Tough crowd tonight.”

“We’re all pretty used to your act,” Prase tells their brother, regarding him with an expression of fond annoyance. “Get going.”

They take their adoptive—he must be, right?—father’s seat as he and Sans leave, and immediately start up an animated conversation about a lot of people whose names you don’t recognize and a few that you’ve at least heard before, like Alphys.

There’s a very gentle look on Chara’s face as they talk, and without even thinking, you shift in your blankets to scoot closer to their side. Their eyes flick to you once, and they hold their arm apart from their body, the invitation clear. Holding your breath, you move in the rest of the way, and come to rest snug in the crook of their arm. They squeeze a little, then leave their arm curled softly around you. They’re very warm. You rest your head on their shoulder and close your eyes, letting Chara’s conversation with Prase and the game show on TV wash over you meaninglessly.

Soon Gaster and Sans return with a long table, and there’s a lot of clattering and bustle as they get it set down in the middle of the room; Prase gets up to help them retrieve seven chairs just in time for Asriel to start bringing out placemats, utensils, and drinks for everyone—coffee and tea for the adults, milk for you. Chara stays on the couch with you until Papyrus finally emerges triumphant, balancing multiple plates of spaghetti and trilling that dinner is served.

You take a chair between Chara and Asriel; Prase and Gaster sit on opposite ends of the table, with Sans and Papyrus across from you. There are multiple shakers on the table: Salt, pepper, powdered parmesan cheese, pepper flakes, mixed spices, and—for some reason—vegetarian substitute bacon bits.

Papyrus immediately commandeers the cheese, and Asriel empties a good third of the bacon bits atop his pasta; you just pick up your fork and decide to try the spaghetti as-is before you decide if it needs anything extra. You try to curl pasta around your fork the way they do in movies, and lean over your plate to take a good sniff of the sauce. It _smells_ nice, for sure; your mouth is filling with drool even as you savor the smell of tomato.

You take a small bite.

Your face scrunches up. The taste is… it’s _fantastic._ The pasta is perfectly soft; the sauce is tangy, salty, and just a little bit spicy too. You shovel more of the spaghetti into your mouth. There are small lumps of cooked tomato in the sauce, warm and vaguely lemony like hidden treasures.

“Be careful not to choke while you’re inhaling that,” Chara chides gently from next to you, patting your back. You try to slow down, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“No need to worry!” Papyrus says, grinning broadly. “For Asriel and I have prepared more than enough dinner for there to be seconds! Perhaps even thirds!!”

This is good to know, seeing as you’ve just cleaned your plate. The only other person who’s anywhere near finished eating is Asriel, who still has about a fifth of his share left.

He gives you a considering look and scarfs that remaining fifth in a few bites, pink tongue flicking out to clean his mouth of sauce. “Papyrus, do you mind if we help ourselves?” he asks.

“Nyeh! Of course not!”

So you and Asriel push your chairs back, and Asriel leads you into the kitchen with its warmly colored tiled floor. He loads your plate up with pasta and sauce before touching his own, and brings you back to the table with a hand on your upper back.

The second plate of spaghetti, you try to pace yourself on; you don’t have very much luck. Every time you look up, though, you see Papyrus beaming at you, and that makes everything feel worth it.

Chara escorts you to get your third plate, telling you that you’d best stop here so that you can have room for your Nice Cream too. You’d forgotten all about that, and the disappointment of being told to stop eating this wonderful food quietens in your excitement to try the ice cream.

They do make you wait until everyone else is done, though it doesn’t take long. There’s some spaghetti left over still; Papyrus happily promises that he will pack you a tupperware of leftovers for you to heat up sometime later.

While Gaster and Prase clear the table away and Sans helps Papyrus with the dishes, Asriel retrieves your Nice Cream from the refrigerator. You turn the ice cream sandwich over a few times in your hands. The wrapper is plain wax paper, and has a drawing of a hug on it. Asriel’s already unwrapping his, but you can read _Are those claws natural?_ on it; Chara’s reads _Love yourself! I love you!_

You carefully undo your wrapper without tearing it, and fold it up before nibbling the corner of the Nice Cream. The cookie wafers on either side of the strawberry ice cream are both vanilla, unlike Chara and Asriel’s, which are chocolate. It suits the taste of the ice cream better, though, you think. It’s a nice treat, suiting its name; its sweetness hits the spot perfectly after the savory flavors of your dinner. You lick all your fingers clean after you’re done.

Chara catches you yawning minutes later, and touches your shoulder lightly. “Do you think you can stay awake long enough to get to the inn?” they ask, and you shrug.

They clear their throat a little to get everyone’s attention, then. “We’ve got to head off to the inn to get some rest now,” they say. “This one’s ready to pass out.”

“That’s fine, you all need your sleep,” Prase says. “Chara, Asriel—if you have the time tomorrow morning, you might want to stop to check in with Sans and me before we have to leave for work. Since you’re going through Waterfall on foot tomorrow, it’s not like you’ll be able to come visit us at the lab, and we’ve got progress reports for you.”

“We’ll do that if we’re up early enough, thanks,” Asriel says, smiling at them. You yawn again, and he takes the scarf you got from Chara back out of his pack, draping it around your shoulders.

It’s still cold outside, but the lenses of your new glasses darken further in response to the brightness, so that you don’t have to half close them to stand it. The shock of the temperature and the wakefulness it slaps into you is a temporary cure at best. Before you know it, you’re nodding again even as Asriel and Chara shepherd you through Snowdin Town.

The inn, at the other end of the town, is so warm that you nearly collapse against Asriel and pass out as soon as the door is closed behind you. The innkeeper, a rabbit monster, hands over a room key to Chara and sends you all up the stairs.

There’s a great taking off of shoes and jackets and a flurry of changing into pajamas with backs turned to one another. Asriel lights the fireplace with his magic, casting a gentle glow over the room even when he turns the lamp off.

The room has only one bed, but you slept with Chara and Asriel last night anyway, and it looks so cozy and inviting with its high stack of pillows and blankets. Asriel crawls in first, lying on his side facing you; Chara gets in after him, and you’re on the edge again.

“Glasses,” Chara murmurs, and you remember with a start that they’re still sitting on your face. You take them off carefully and set them on the bedside table.

“Goodnight,” Asriel says.

“Night,” you whisper back.

“Shush,” says Chara, and you close your eyes and roll onto your back with a smile.


	3. i worry. i worry. i worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrt the new "food issues" tag: in addition to frisk's abuse-related hoarding issues, this chapter involves some discussion of food waste, so tread with caution if that's an issue for you.

You wake to what you realize belatedly is Asriel getting up: a great crunch and squeak of bedsprings, the mattress bouncing as he steps over Chara and you and onto the floor. A groan of protest next to you says that you’re not the only one he woke up.

“Go back to sleep,” he says, soft. “’M going out to pick up things for Frisk like we talked about. I’ll be back soon.” And he leans over you and down to kiss Chara’s face. He gives your shoulder a soft pat, too, and then he straightens up and you hear his footsteps trail off, the door open and close.

Chara rolls over with a quiet mutinous noise, burying their face in the pillow Asriel was using. It’s still warm here, so you stretch your legs out under the layers of heavy sheets and roll over yourself, so that your back is pressed up to Chara’s. Content, you close your eyes again.

The next time you open them it’s to the sound of the door closing; you and Chara both jolt awake. You’ve rolled over and so have they, and they have one arm over your waist; pressed up against them you can feel their heart beating even faster than yours as they sit up with a carefully blank expression.

“It’s just me,” Asriel says, and Chara relaxes, moving their arm so that you can sit up too.

Asriel is all dressed—sweatpants with a sweater today—and is carrying a paper bag that’s dwarfed by his great big paw-hands. He sits at the end of the bed and sets it out.

“It’s just a start, nothing that special—since I know it’d be better to bring you to try things on yourself or just take you to the tailor, Frisk. But it’s cold here in Snowdin and damp in Waterfall where we’ll be going later today, and Chara and I don’t want you getting sick. So I checked the tags on your clothes for the sizes and got you a pair of jeans and a jacket, and some socks.”

You freeze mid-stretch. Your sense that you’ve got to refuse this latest show of generosity because you _know_ you’re going to use it up sooner or later wars with your sense that you must be hearing things, that this can’t possibly really be for you.

Chara rests a gentle hand on your back. “Why don’t you try them on, for now, to see if you like them? Asriel and I can step outside if you’d be more comfortable with that.”

Well—you all changed in the same room last night, and besides, if they leave it’ll be that much harder not to throw the new clothes Asriel brought for you into the fire, and yourself right after them. You tell them _that’s okay, I don’t mind_ and scoot over the edge of the bed.

The socks in the bag are black; you sit on the mattress to pull them over your feet. There’s a little room left over near the toes, giving you plenty of room to wiggle, but aside from that they fit okay. The jeans come next—the twill is a little thinner than the stiff denim of your shorts, but that means that you won’t have to wear them for months and months to break them in. Asriel turns his back politely while you slip off your borrowed pajama pants and pull the jeans on: These are again a little bit long, the hems of the legs grazing the floor, but they’re not tight in the waist, and you can just tuck them into your boots and avoid them dragging on the ground.

The last thing in the bag is a little jacket with a zippered front. It’s dark blue with a yellow-gold stripe over the chest and upper arms.

“I tried to find one with blue and pink, but this was the closest they had,” Asriel says as if by way of explanation, having turned back around.

You swallow and pull it on over the pajama shirt. It fits perfectly.

“Very dapper,” Chara commends, and you turn to look over your shoulder. They’ve pulled one leg up so that their foot is flat on the mattress, and have propped their arm against their thigh to support their face as they lean forward, grinning at you. “I’m glad, too; that’s good thinking, Ree, going out and getting everything first thing.”

Asriel shrugs, grinning back. Maybe it’s just because you’ve had two days getting used to expressions on his furry face, but you get a boyish, fake-innocent impression from that smile. “Well, I just figured that if Frisk is anything at all like you and all the other fallen humans, it’ll be easier to just dump sort of pre-prepared nice things on them so it’s harder to reject. Like you were saying the other day.”

You swallow, fighting back the absurd urge to crawl under the bed and not come out. _Is it really that common a problem?_

The mattress creaks as Chara scoots up to its edge, sitting where you’d slept and setting their bare feet on the floor. “Oh, yes,” they say, so brightly it rings false to your ear. “We fallen humans seem disproportionately prejudiced to believe kindness and generosity to be conditional, something we must work to earn or are in danger of losing. It is only possible to rewrite that conditioning through time, effort, and patience.”

“That might have been a little verbose, hon,” Asriel says.

“I literally just woke up. This is my natural state. Let me live my life.” Chara pauses to yawn and stretch enormously. “What I mean to say is—it’s okay to accept nice things from us, Frisk. We wouldn’t offer if we weren’t genuine, and we’re not going to stop caring about you halfway into things.”

Experience begs to differ, but they’re still being kind to you after yesterday. They still haven’t lost their patience with you yet, despite how you failed them. Maybe they _do_ mean it, or at least think they do.

Chara’s right. Only time can tell.

“You should put your shirt on, and I also need to get dressed,” they announce, getting up and stretching again. Their spine pops so loudly you can’t help but wince. “We should still be in time to meet Prase and Sans, shouldn’t we? And either way, Papyrus will be expecting us to bring Frisk for breakfast—we could bring them to Grillby’s but he’d be very put out.”

“I’ll get us packed,” Asriel volunteers.

You knit your fingers together at your waist. You haven’t thanked him for the clothes yet, and you don’t trust your hands not to try to refuse them, still.

Chara is watching you again, you notice, their gaze very sharp and measuring. Even your hesitance to act, you think, is probably telling them a lot more than you want to reveal.

“Do you like your new things?” they ask, then, soft.

Startled, you nod.

They smile. “I’m glad,” they tell you. “That makes everything very much worth it.”

 

 

In the end Chara has to remind you to put your glasses on, and they insist on wrapping you back up in the scarf when you’re still standing in the inn lobby. Asriel holds open the door for both of you, and you venture out into the cold to get your first proper look at Snowdin Town.

The town is arranged along the edges of two roads, framed by pine trees. The buildings are all painted in warm colors; the monsters who are already out and about all seem to be either furry and feathery or piled into coats and scarves like you. The middle of the town is dominated by—your insides lurch—a tall Christmas tree covered in bright decorations, with packages in shiny bows and wrapping paper stacked underneath.

Maybe your emotions show on your face, because Chara puts a hand on your shoulder bracingly.

“I should have thought to warn you,” they say, voice low. “This isn’t quite as Christianity-where-it-doesn’t-belong as it probably looks like, but the looks are bad enough. I’ve been living here for most of my life and it still makes me uncomfortable sometimes.”

 _What do you mean it’s not what it looks like?_ you ask, turning away from the tree.

“There’s a monster living in the woods named Gyftrot who gets decorated a lot by local teens,” Asriel explains. “So people started decorating trees and offering them gifts to make them feel better. It was a big surprise to learn that some humans do the same thing… human cultures and religions and things sound complicated.”

“So far everyone in the underground has been willing to accommodate for us,” Chara goes on mildly. “Even when they don’t particularly understand. More proof that monsters are better than humans, in case you weren’t convinced yet.” They sound like they’re joking, but you don’t think they are; their smile doesn’t reach their eyes at all. Then they sigh and squeeze your shoulder very gently. “If you’re all right with sharing what you believe, we can accommodate for you too—at least to the best of our ability.”

All of Chara’s behavior, their tone, their body language, tells you that they know exactly where you’re coming from. Even so you hesitate for a moment before admitting, _I’m Jewish._

Their face flushes; their eyes widen. Their grip on your shoulder tightens minutely. The next moment they drop their gaze and release you, seeming to remember themself. All the same, they’re smiling when they say, _“Finally.”_

Asriel’s wedding ring is on his right hand, you remember, your heart beating faster. Like your parents’, and like no one else in town. _Are you…?_

Chara reaches up briefly to rub the hook in the bridge of their nose, then jams their hand in their pocket. “Yes. Yeah.” They can’t seem to stop grinning, even though they drop their gaze again and bite their lower lip, pulling their mouth lopsided. “It’s been just me for the longest time. Everyone’s—I mean all the other humans have different religions and all, but it’s been damned lonely as literally the only Jew in the entire underground.”

They’re just so—pleased. All you can do is blink. You were expecting—you’re not even sure, really, but not a reaction like this, not this joyful relief and surprise. It makes your arms and chest ache with the urge to hug them, so you clasp your hands behind your back to keep yourself still.

“I mean, I’m—I’ve lived here so long, and if the village is anything at all like it used to be I’m sure you can imagine how cut off I was, so I can barely call myself anything other than secular,” Chara goes on quickly, their blush darkening. “One of the others is—well, ze isn’t like us, but ze’s the one to consult for religious things. It’s not very convenient and it may not be what you’re used to, but all the same—”

 _We weren’t very religious either,_ you interrupt, ears heating up at your own boldness. _We just went to temple for holidays. It’s okay, I don’t have a bunch of expectations or anything. It’s just nice, to not be alone._

Chara’s smile grows. “It is.”

Asriel lays a big gentle hand on their shoulder, then on yours. “C’mon,” he says. “We’ve got to go meet up with Prase and Sans and get breakfast, for now. You’ll have a lot of time to talk about all this stuff later.”

“We will,” Chara agrees.

 

 

The same long table from last night is in the process of being brought out when you arrive at the Gaster family home. Sans is yawning widely, slouched against the wall and not helping in the slightest, but perks up when you walk in.

“Nice new duds, kid,” he says, grin huge. “Least today you won’t have to worry about turnin’ into a Frisk-cicle.”

Chara snorts; you blush.

“SANS,” Papyrus shouts from the kitchen. “Must you start so early in the day! There will be no more low-hanging fruit left for everyone else if you insist on plucking it all!!!”

“I’m short and it’s effort,” Sans replies, slouching into his chair. Gaster pats his shoulder lightly, and Prase looks up at you briefly, rolling their eyes.

The breakfast spread is as extravagant as everything else since you’ve arrived here: Plates of fluffy scrambled eggs, still-sizzling hash browns, and—incongruously—a pot of that oatmeal with those little dinosaur eggs. (This explains itself when Papyrus helps himself to most of it.)

“You’re planning on spending most of today showing Frisk through Waterfall, right?” Prase asks.

“Yeah, and then Hotland tomorrow,” Asriel answers.

“We figured. That’s convenient, Alphys needs time to crash and do last-minute double checks, but we’ve got a prototype for the machine.”

You hesitate in raising your fork to your mouth. The faces of all the adults are oddly tense—even Papyrus is frowning.

“It’s still just a one-person unit, and it’s going to be a very long time before it’s ready for practical use, even if it’s viable,” Prase goes on. “But we want to get on testing it as soon as possible, so Chara, if you could stop by the lab for a couple of hours tomorrow we’d appreciate it.”

Chara sets their utensils down and takes a long careful drink of tea. It looks to you like they’re deliberately pausing to consider their words. “We do still need to show Frisk around, of course, so I hope that it will not be that long.”

“I can do that, if they’re okay with it,” Asriel says quietly. “I’d be too nervous to watch—I’d probably just get in the way. It’s you they need, and I know I can count on you to look over things for me.”

“We know you don’t like relying on DT for our science shenanigans, but we need the insurance,” Sans adds. “This could get hairy. Which’s sayin’ a lot ‘cause me and Alph don’t have hair and Prase ain’t a lot better.”

There’s a small thud that you think is probably Prase kicking Sans under the table, from the way Sans’ grin widens and even Chara smiles a little.

“You don’t have to ply me with the power-and-responsibility speech,” they say at length, poking their breakfast. “Yes, it’s stressful, and I don’t want anything to happen that would require me stepping in at all, but since I can fix things in a worst case scenario when no one else can, I’ll be there to do my part.”

The tense silence resumes. You sign _what are they talking about?_ in very small motions at Gaster, not wanting to draw attention to yourself.

 _It’s about the ongoing effort to break the Barrier that keeps us trapped here,_ he replies. _You will learn more about it in time. It’s all right to just concentrate on learning your way around, for now._

In your experience it’s never a good idea to dismiss whatever the adults around you are preoccupied with as none of your business, but you nod and go back to eating anyway, not wanting to disagree and cause trouble.

“You’ll probably get to see some of the underground’s history in the Waterfall exhibits today anyway,” Asriel says, surprising you. “You’re gonna get context pretty soon, I bet.”

You chew another mouthful of eggs and watch Chara shoot their partner a look that seems almost grateful.

Sans and Prase leave as soon as they’re done eating, but Papyrus holds you up to present Asriel with the promised container of spaghetti. It’s too big to fit in any of your pockets—“We should get you a backpack or something too soon,” Chara remarks, and you flush all the way up to the tips of your ears, waving your hands to dissuade them—so Asriel stashes it in his pack.

Gaster and Papyrus wish you a good journey through the next part of the caverns, and back out into the cold you go. It really is easier with the pants and jacket and your glasses, and the cookies and candy that you’ve still got in your pockets make you feel more at ease too. It’s nowhere near as reassuring as having a whole system of emergency stashes, but it’s enough that you know you won’t be going hungry if disaster strikes.

“There’s a ferry over that way that travels between Snowdin, Waterfall, and Hotland,” Chara says to you, pointing down the path through town that springs off perpendicular from the main road. “We’re giving you the slow proper tour so we won’t be bothering with it, but it’s there for when you want to get where you’re going in a few hours instead of a few days.”

They’ve barely lowered their arm before a monster you don’t recognize, one who looks sort of like a faun or a bipedal cow in thick purple makeup, approaches you.

“Your Majesties,” says the monster. “I hope I’m not interrupting at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” Asriel replies with a politeness you’re pretty sure is mostly diplomacy. “Is there something you need?”

“It’s those teens again,” the monster says, sighing. “They got hold of Gyftrot last night and things are a bit of a mess by now. Rufus is trying to get damage control done, but even once Papyrus gets there we’re not sure of how effective that will be. If Your Majesties could come talk to them…”

Asriel and Chara exchange looks. “We need to get through Waterfall today, and soon,” Asriel says, “but until we have to leave, sure, we’ll get a word in. Would you give us the details about this particular incident?”

The monster launches into their tale, and you find your interest waning. Rufus and Papyrus you know, but Gyftrot’s name only means anything to you in the context of the Christmas-like decorations, so you find yourself caring maybe less than you should. You guess mediating and sorting out local troubles must be an important monarch job, but it’s boring just standing around waiting for the grownups to get done.

“You can go explore the town if you’d like,” Chara says in an undertone. “Just make sure that you don’t get too far away. Ree and I will be right here if you need us for anything, and if we have to go back into Snowdin Forest, we’ll find you and make sure you have something to do in the meantime before we leave.”

It’s a much more gentle dismissal than what you’re used to, but it’s still a dismissal, so you nod obediently and put some distance between yourself and the adults.

You give the tree a wide berth as you think over your options. If all else fails you can probably just go back to the Gasters’ house, because Gaster is nice and following Papyrus around promises to be fun. But that probably doesn’t count as exploring, and maybe there are other monsters here who are nice too.

Just as you’re thinking this, it seems, someone says “Yo!” and you raise your head as you hear the crunch of snow approaching you.

The yo-ing monster is about your size; they’re small and reptilian looking, with yellow skin and a ridge of spines starting at the crown of their head. Their tail juts out from under their striped brown-and-yellow smock; they don’t have arms, you note. They’ve got a big smiling mouth filled with pointy teeth and a dark mark under and around their right eye like a bruise.

“Yo, you’re a kid too, right?” the monster says, beaming. You nod. “I can tell ‘cause you’re wearing a striped shirt.”

You look down at yourself, then back at them. Come to think of it, Chara and Asriel were wearing stripes in the old photos of them as kids that Toriel and Asgore had on their wall, didn’t they? Monsters must have the same custom as they do in town.

“You’re, like… the new human, aren’t you?” the monster asks. When you look up at them they’re peering at you with bright curiosity in their eyes. “Dude, I knew it!! Haha, that’s so cool! There haven’t been new humans down here in, like, years, and you’re my age and everything! When the last one came I was still too young to really get what was going on, ha…”

 _I’m Frisk,_ you sign, hopeful, spelling it out for them too.

“Frisk, huh?” says the monster kid. “Nice to meet you, dude, you can call me MK! This is gonna be great! I’ve always wanted to make friends with a human!”

Your face heats up in an instant, your heart skipping in your chest. _Friends._ You lift your hands, then lower them, unsure of what to say, shame and excitement racing through your blood.

“You’re, like, new here, right? Oh man, have you been to Waterfall yet?” MK is just about bouncing up and down where they stand in the snow. “It’s super cool! The captain of the Royal Guard lives there! We can go watch her beat up bad guys and stuff! And we can get to know each other too! There’s a whole bunch of fun stuff we can go do around there, and my sister won’t even be able to bother us! Yo, what d’you think?”

 _I think I should probably ask Chara first,_ you say, squirming. _They did say not to go too far out while they’re busy._

“That’s a good idea,” MK answers. “It’d suck if I got ‘em mad at you or anything. But yo, don’t worry! The monarchs—we gotta call ‘em Mr. and Mx Dreemurr when they come visit our school—they’re super nice. They don’t get mad a lot, and when they do it’s always for a good reason. I’ll go with you! As long as they know where you’re going and all, it should be okay.”

Really you don’t want to bother them, but MK seems so confident that it will be fine, and they’ve lived here for much longer than you. So you let them lead you back over to the other side of town, where Chara and Asriel are still in conversation with the faun monster.

Chara notices your approach first, and they lay a hand on Asriel’s arm, pausing him mid-sentence. Both of them turn towards you.

“Hello again, Frisk,” Asriel says, bending a little so that you’ll be able to look each other in the face without strain. “I see you’ve met MK. That’s great, hopefully you two will be able to make friends—Frisk is new, so they don’t know many people their own age yet.”

“I’d have my fingers crossed if I had any!” MK jokes, and you smile. “Yo, so you guys are taking care of royal business over here and stuff, right? Can Frisk and me go play in Waterfall ‘til you’re done?”

“Hmm.” Chara looks at Asriel and then back at you and MK, folding their arms and smiling. “Do you want to go, Frisk?”

There’s a significant part of you that urges you to stay put, to not ruffle feathers, to be good and wait. The rest is still fluttering at the echoed memory of MK’s voice proclaiming _friends._ You hesitate. _If it’s not too much trouble,_ you hedge.

“It will certainly be a lot more fun than waiting around here,” Chara says. They uncross their arms and set gentle hands on your shoulders. “Stick with MK, and don’t get too far away. Try to be back in Snowdin Town before lunchtime—MK, if your parents are all right with it, we can take you out to Grillby’s with us. Be careful, and be good, alright?—though you’re already very good without me having to ask you.”

“If something happens and you need help, ask a grownup to go find Undyne,” Asriel says. “Or Innig—I think she’s supposed to be on duty in Waterfall today too, isn’t she?”

“Her Hotland shift with Rufus starts tomorrow, I believe,” Chara replies, nodding. “There’s not that much trouble you can get into in Waterfall as long as you’re sticking close to Snowdin and being careful. So you two go have fun. You know where we’ll be if you need to find us.”

Instinct says that you should give Chara and Asriel hugs here, but Chara’s already releasing your shoulders after one last squeeze, and Asriel’s turning back to resume his talk with the faun, and you don’t want to take up too much of their time.

“Yo, I told you it’d work out,” MK says from beside you, their voice a little softer than before. “C’mon, Waterfall’s awesome! You’ll see!!”

You give Chara and Asriel one last look over your shoulder, then nod to MK with a smile and follow them down the road through town. They take it at a precarious trot, nearly stumbling and pitching forward into the snow on more than one occasion; you have to grab the back of their smock once to keep them upright.

“Thanks dude!” they say, still cheerful, and lead you through swirling curtains of mist as the snow underfoot gets thinner and gives way to stiff frosty grass instead.

 

 

MK leads you into a dark tunnel that emerges into a series of caves made from blue stone. The deep color of the walls is interrupted here and there by white-blue stones that seem to give off a faint light; you wander over to them for a closer look.

“You can touch ‘em, nobody’ll mind,” says MK when you reach out and then hesitate, so you take a deep breath and run your fingertips over the wall. The blue stone is bumpy and rough; the white ones are soft and smooth. You want to rub your hands on them over and over, but the walls are so rough that they might hurt your palms if you get overexcited, and you’re scared of leaving fingerprints on the shiny jewels. So you pull away reluctantly and follow MK further down the path.

Here and there bright cyan flowers sprout; whenever you come near them you start to hear a strange whispering noise. At first you think it’s just your imagination, but when you draw nearer for a closer look, the voices get louder.

“Those are Echo Flowers, dude,” MK explains helpfully. “They repeat the last thing they heard over and over. We mostly use ‘em to make wishes on… the wishing room’s really close by now, c’mon!”

The path is interrupted in the next room by a rushing waterfall, which MK splashes through with abandon. You take an extra moment to look around—there’s a wooden deck beneath the waterfall there to catch you if you’re washed over the side, with steps leading up the wall back to the path. So you step in carefully and wade over to where MK is waiting for you.

The river is deep enough for your legs to get wet, water rushing into your boots unpleasantly; you kick your feet a little when you’re safely up and out. The soft crisp new socks that Asriel brought you are damp now and cling to your ankles, their fabric nubbly with river water, and you dance in place with distaste, shivers running over your skin.

“You okay, Frisk?” MK asks. You stick out your tongue and kick as much water off your boots and jeans as you can, then nod.

They lead you onwards again, this time ducking through a patch of rustly sea grass so tall it reaches over both your heads.

The path ends next to another small stretch of water, this one still. You frown at it; from here it’s difficult to tell how deep it is, and besides, your legs and feet are already unpleasantly cold from crossing the last river.

“Dude, can you help with the Bridge Seeds?” MK says, gesturing at a group of small plants nearby with a toss of their head. “If you line ‘em up on the water we can cross on them, but uh, I have a hard time carrying ‘em without arms.”

You give them a thumbs up and squat down to try lifting one of the plants, getting a closer look at it. It’s a tightly closed pink bud surrounded by four tough curled-up leaves, about as wide around as your waist; to your surprise, when you slip your hands underneath it, it lifts right up, unattached to the ground beneath. You stack it on your head to carry over to the water; when you set it on the water’s surface it drifts lazily over to the other side and sticks there.

“Yeah, that’s it, now just do it with the other ones,” MK encourages, bouncing a little where they stand. You can’t help but smile a little as you do so. Just as they said, the flowers and leaves unfurl when the four plants are lined up in the water, showing blue on the insides of the flower petals and pretty green patterns on the green of the leaves. You poke at them; they’re tough and waxy. MK scampers across them with ease, and they only send out the slightest ripples when you follow. It’s like they’re gigantic, magic lily pads.

The bigger room that this path opens up into has another Bridge Seed puzzle too, this one more difficult than the last; MK shows you a thing on the wall that they call a Bell Blossom that resets the Bridge Seeds, and proceeds to sit down on a clump of glowing mushrooms to call encouragement and advice.

MK is a kid like you, and they seem content to let you play around, so you do. It’s a lot more fun to do puzzles without the pressure of grown-ups watching, though you think that the _Congratulations! You failed the puzzle!_ sign is a little much, and there’s not even anything off into the room across from the path where you entered the big chamber except a bench to sit on and a silent Echo Flower.

You get a bridge to the correct path onwards on your fourth try.

“Yo, that’s pretty good,” says MK. “It took me, like, way longer to figure it out when Undyne and Dr. Alphys first made the puzzle! Even with the part where I haven’t got arms.”

You duck your head and grin at your wet shoes, and MK leads you onwards, into a narrow corridor filled with Echo Flowers and, inexplicably, a telescope.

“Here we are!” they say, slowing to a stop. They jerk their chin up, and you crane your own head back—and promptly lose your breath when you see the ceiling.

The black expanse of stone above you is covered in tiny glittering crystals and jewels, like the night sky but closer and even more beautiful.

 _It’s so pretty,_ you tell MK.

“My parents say that back when monsters lived on the surface we used to wish on the real stars,” MK explains. “Now we use these instead. But, yo! The monarchs and the Royal Scientist are working on a way to free us. So I’m sure we’ll get to see what the real stars look like soon!”

You nod, deciding to keep your own thoughts about that gorgeous ceiling to yourself to be polite. But now you’re starting to get curious. How does the Barrier keep everyone trapped here anyway, and just how do Asriel and Chara plan on breaking it? If it has to do with the machine they keep talking about… then it sounds like it might be dangerous.

But you guess you can ask them about it later.

“Yo, c’mon,” MK says, already turning the corner. “There’s even more cool stuff up ahead! Just wait ‘til you see the rain room!!”

You follow them through a hole in the cave wall and onto a dock over black water thick with plants like big cattails. The docks go up to a scalloped stone wall with big plaques on them; these plaques, you discover as you trot up to them, are covered in glowing cyan writing that you can’t make heads or tails of. The symbols—the runes, you guess—are nothing like English, Hebrew, Korean, or Japanese, and those are the only languages you know anything about.

“Those are pretty boring, dude,” MK informs you. “They’re just about ancient history. Everyone—oh wait, yeah, duh, it’s not like you learned about this in school, huh. I can read ‘em to you if you want.”

 _Yes please,_ you tell them.

So they trot up next to you and clear their throat ostentatiously, such an obvious imitation of a teacher that you have to giggle. They grin back at you, and start. “The War of Humans and Monsters,” they say.

They move on to the next plaque, and you follow along.

“Why did the humans attack? Indeed, it seemed that they had nothing to fear,” MK reads. “Humans are unbelievably strong. It would take the soul of nearly every monster just to equal the power of a single human soul. But humans have one weakness. Ironically, it is the strength of their soul. Its power allows it to persist outside the human body, even after death. If a monster defeats a human, they can take its soul. A monster with a human soul… a horrible beast with unfathomable power.”

The last plaque has no writing on it, just a crude illustration of a strange creature. Even underneath your jacket and scarf, you can feel yourself getting goosebumps.

There are no more plaques here; at the end of the dock there’s a little plank raft that MK hops onto. You step on after them, and the raft drifts out across the dark water.

 _What did it mean, about souls?_ you ask as you float.

“Oh,” says MK. “Like… monsters are way weaker than humans are. Um… I think it’s ‘cause monsters are made out of magic and attuned to our souls and humans are made out of water and meat? That’s kinda why the monsters lost the war and got sealed inside Mt. Ebott, haha, we were no match for the humans back in ancient times. We got our butts kicked and surrendered.”

 _That sounds… unfair,_ you say, frowning.

“It does,” MK agrees. “Yo, if you wanna keep reading the history stuff we can keep hitting up the plaques if you want? There’s stuff on this in the librarby too if you wanna do research.”

The raft bumps gently into another long and twisty stretch of dock; MK hops off and charges down it. You follow them across, and through a thicket of sea grass into another cavern. This one has a table with a plate of cheese on it… encased in a thick pink coating of crystal.

There’s a little hole in the side of the cave wall. As you and MK pass by, you think you hear a squeak. Your spirits lift just a little.

 

 

The path continues, opening up into a wide, low cave where the water glows phosphorescent blue. There’s a small gray monster with a teardrop-shaped body standing by the blue wall, apparently admiring the beautiful pattern of jewels embedded there.

“’Sup, Loren!” MK calls to the monster. They turn and blink shiny black eyes at you.

“You have a new friend,” Loren observes.

“Uh-huh,” says MK. “This’s Frisk.”

“Hello,” Loren says. “Are you a star?”

 _I’m a human,_ you reply, taken aback.

“The King’s consort is a human, and also a star,” Loren tells you knowledgeably. “They will lead us to the surface, where we can see the stars in the sky. But we do not know what the stars on the surface are like. Can you touch a star? Can you eat it? …Can you kill it?”

The monster named Loren’s questions are guileless, but for some reason they make the hair stand up on the back of your arms.

“Why don’t you ask Mettaton?” MK says, grinning. “He’s a star too.”

Loren blinks at the ground, and you leave, following the wood bridges and marshy banks of earth through the glowing water. Bright grasses sprout from the black earth here, with those cattail-like plants growing from the water and tiny lily pads floating on its surface. On the opposite bank you can see strange narrow trees growing too.

The marshes spread out further and further; you and MK pass Echo Flowers that whisper a distorted conversation. (“So? Don’t you have any wishes to make?” “…Hmm, just one, but… It’s kind of stupid.”) The only other noises are the shushing of your feet through the grass, and the spill of water over the falls.

“Those Echo Flowers and the conversation in ‘em are really old, yo,” MK whispers to you. It’s the quietest they’ve ever been. “We try to keep ‘em as they are and repeat the words in case any of ‘em get erased because of how important they are to our history.”

The light of the water makes them glow eerily, and maybe that’s what makes you shiver as you ask, _Why are they so important?_

“’Cause that’s a conversation between the monarchs, from back when they were our age,” MK replies.

You pass another Echo Flower (“Don’t say that! Come on, I promise I won’t laugh.”) and tilt your head. You suppose that the voices recorded in the flowers might be children’s, but the sounds feel worn smooth from time, anonymous and vague, hard to pin down as belonging to any one person.

“Oh, dude, here’s another plaque,” MK chirps, trotting over to an alcove. You have to grab the back of their smock to keep them from falling again. “Ahem… The power to take their souls. This is the power that the humans feared. …Man, it seems pretty silly for humans to have attacked monsters just because of what monsters _could_ do without even worrying about whether we _would_ or not.”

 _On the surface, humans have started plenty of wars with each other because of things like that,_ you reply, thinking back to history class. _And for lots worse reasons, too. Humans aren’t as nice as monsters. I bet monsters would never even have thought about taking humans’ souls in the first place if humans hadn’t attacked them._

“I dunno, man,” says MK. “You and all the humans who already live here with us think like we do about it, so you all seem pretty okay.”

The path turns, leading out across dark water again.

“There used to be some big water monsters who lived here, but they all moved to the aquariums in Home and New Home ‘cause of the water level dropping,” MK explains sagely. “The king and the monarch came up with that plan. Good thing too, or Waterfall woulda gotten _really_ overcrowded by now.”

This time you pass by a grotto with a steady stream of water rushing through a hole in the ground. There are a pair of monsters in a corner—one of them a tiny blue floating fish, the other a huge, slightly melty creature with thick biceps and a gigantic mouth full of angry teeth.

“Hey Shyren, hey Lemon Bread,” MK calls. The little blue fish waves a fin, humming a soft tune. The bigger monster with them growls. “That’s Shyren,” MK tells you. “She’s a backup singer for Mettaton sometimes. Lemon Bread is mostly her sister, and I think Aaron’s brother and one of the Moldbyggs is in there too? Haha, I lose track sometimes. They’re cool, but you should give Lemon Bread some space. Moldbyggs don’t like having people get up in their grills and we think it musta rubbed off.”

You give Shyren and Lemon Bread a very tentative wave. Shyren hums a little louder; Lemon Bread doesn’t growl at you this time, apparently content that you’re keeping your distance. MK leads you down the corridor, where they point out more plaques along the wall.

“This power has no counter,” MK says. “It’s, uh, still talking about taking human souls. But, like, so. Indeed, a human cannot take a monster’s soul. …Who even says ‘indeed’ in actual conversation aside from the King’s parents and Mx Dreemurr anyway, though?? I’m getting distracted, uh… When a monster dies, its soul disappears. And an incredible power would be needed to take the soul of a living monster. There is only one exception. The soul of a special species of monster called a Boss Monster. A Boss Monster’s soul is strong enough to persist after death… if only for a few moments. A human could absorb this soul. But this has never happened. And now it never will.”

MK trots off down the corridor, and you follow, rubbing your arms. The bleakness of the plaques makes you nervous.

The two of you pass a hole in the cave ceiling where little drips of water splash into a puddle on the ground, and then into another tunnel with a bucket of umbrellas and a sign saying ‘take one’.

“Oh man, I really wanted to show you this,” MK says, wiggling. “Get an umbrella so we don’t get wet, yo!”

You do so, balancing it on your shoulder so that you can wedge it between your upper arm and your side when you want to sign. _I wonder what a boss monster looks like?_

For some reason this makes MK laugh. “Dude, you already know,” they say. “The king and his parents are Boss Monsters! Pretty cool, right?”

You smile and nod. Up ahead, what must be runoff from the surface drips from the ceiling quickly and steadily like rain, forming big black puddles. MK sticks close to your shoulder as you make your way through.

 _What happened to S-H-Y-R-I-N’s sister?_ you ask at length. _Is it anything like E-N-D-O-G-G-E-N-E-Y?_

“Oh!” MK nods. “Yeah, they both turned into amalgamates the same way, dude. Like—King Asriel’s been having the Royal Scientist study souls so we can learn more about the Barrier, right? So like, why human souls are different from monster ones, and if there are ways to make normal monster souls more like a Boss Monster’s or a human’s. So she got monster families to volunteer people who’d ‘fallen down’ and did some experiments on ‘em before they, y’know… and she couldn’t collect the souls, but she did manage to save ‘em. They just kinda got all… melty and some of ‘em stuck together. Still better than the alternative, yo, and we learned a lot about the differences between monster and human bodies, so it’s still kind of a happy ending.”

You try to absorb this explanation. _What does ‘fallen down’ mean?_

“Uh…” MK hesitates here, and you frown at them. They’re not meeting your gaze. “Monsters’ souls are, like… made up of love and compassion and hope and stuff, right? Um… so if a monster ever loses hope completely… they won’t be able to live anymore. They’ll go into a coma and in the end they’ll die. Human souls have something called ‘determination’ in ‘em that keeps ‘em together even without hope, but monster bodies and souls are too fragile and tied to our magic to handle it in big doses. It’d take a miracle for a monster to be able to handle the same amount of determination as a human, if they haven’t absorbed a human soul.”

Your stomach starts to churn. If severe depression is fatal to monsters… and if ancient humans trapped them down here in these tiny caves without light… Just how cruel a death sentence is that, to kill off an entire species slowly via despair, just because you’re scared of what they _might_ be capable of when provoked?

“That’s apparently why it was such a big deal when Mx Dreemurr first fell down here, yo,” MK goes on in a rush. “’Cause they liked us monsters and took our side. Them and the King—he was still just the prince back then—they were the monsters’ hopes and dreams, ‘cause they proved it was possible for us to get along and live together. Man… if things had gone wrong back then… I don’t even wanna think about how much worse things would be down here, y’know?”

You and MK emerge into a vast cavern, with the sounds of wind and rain still echoing from the hall you just walked through. The ceiling is studded with stars again, and across a huge lake you can see a grand white castle.

“That’s New Home, dude!” MK informs you. “It’s where Mr. and Mx Dreemurr live. Isn’t the view super cool from here?”

 _It’s very pretty,_ you answer back. And it really is: It’s like a panorama from a Disney movie.

Moving onwards, you walk up through a crystalline archway and emerge back into another of the blue stone corridors. There’s a bucket for you to return your umbrella, and you do so; MK scampers over to a tall ledge in front of you.

“Hmm,” they say. “There’s more history stuff up ahead if you wanna see it, but we might not be tall enough to get up there…”

“Hey kids,” someone says from behind you, making you jump. There’s a big monster there—a merhorse with muscles like a bodybuilder. “You guys need a lift?” They wink at you in what’s probably an attempt to be winning; you smile very tentatively at them in response.

“Yeah, that’d be really great! Thanks, Aaron!” MK replies.

Aaron squats down in midair (somehow???) and flexes both arms. MK hops up to sit on one of their biceps; you sit on the other. They’re sweaty. It’s a little gross. You don’t have to sit and contemplate it for long, thankfully, because Aaron lifts you up and deposits you atop the ledge.

“I’ll still be here if you need to get down,” they say, winking again.

“Thanks a million, man!” MK says, and off they go. You wave goodbye to the very winky merhorse and hurry after them.

There are more plaques about history up here, which MK reads to you: “The humans, afraid of our power, declared war on us. They attacked suddenly, and without mercy. In the end, it could hardly be called a war. United, the humans were too powerful, and us monsters too weak. Not a single soul was taken, and countless monsters were turned to dust…”

You shove your hands into your jacket pockets with a sigh and continue forward. This time the path is all docks. They creak under your weight and MK’s as you walk.

“I know the runes make it sound super hopeless and all, but things are much better now, I swear,” MK says. “The old King and Queen did their best to keep monsters going since ancient times, and now the new monarchs are coming up with a better way to break the Barrier and set everyone free. Plus a whole bunch of humans live here now and they’re all really nice! It’s just like Undyne says. When all our hearts are beating as one, we can’t lose! We’re gonna get out of here and see the real sky! And… it’s like Papyrus says, too. Sometimes you just gotta give people a chance, yo! Humans and monsters aren’t _that_ different. We can still be friends despite all that stuff that happened in the past. Like, look at you and me!”

Their cheer is infectious, and you can’t help but smile at them.

 _You really look up to U-N-D-I-N-E, huh,_ you say.

“Yeah, she’s _soooooo_ cool!” they answer, bouncing a little in place. The docks creak under their feet loudly. “Yo, I hope you get to meet her soon. Even if there _are_ mean humans when we get outside, Undyne’ll take care of them. She learned to fight from the old King alongside Mx Dreemurr! So she’s, like, super badass. Don’t tell my parents I was swearing, haha.”

You cross your heart, giggling, and they grin back.

“Anyway, we’re, uh, at the end of the docks, so we should probably get back to Snowdin or something,” they say. “We’re a little farther out than I told Mr. and Mx Dreemurr we were gonna go, so we gotta hurry. C’mon, dude! Aaron’ll still be there to give us a ride back down.”

They turn and trot back over the creaky docks. You start to follow them at a slower pace, but something lurches underneath you.

“Frisk, what’s up with that weird noise?” MK asks from the other end of the docks, moments before the soggy wood under you raises a great groan and gives way.

Wind roars in your ears as you fall, and your breath is frozen in your chest, leaving you unable to so much as scream. From very far away, you think you hear MK yelling your name—and then everything is churning water and rushing light. You squeeze your eyes shut.

 

 

Something small, warm, and damp crosses your face. You groan. It drags over your cheek again, making you shiver.

You realize that there’s a small weight on your chest, firm and warm where the rest of you is wet and cold, and then the owner of the weight yaps loudly in your ear, and you flinch.

Slowly, cautiously, you open one eye, then the other. For some reason, there’s a little white dog sitting on you. It’s mostly fluff with a tiny poof of tail, bitty little ears, and its black lips arranged in what looks to you like a slightly dopey smile. Perhaps seeing that you’re awake, the dog yaps again, wags its butt, and gives your face a brisk wash. You try to lift your hand to pet the dog, but the ache in your muscles just makes you wince, and the dog just yaps again and walks away.

You groan and try to lever yourself up into a sitting position, blinking dully at your surroundings.

This is probably still somewhere in Waterfall, if only because waterfalls pound the walls around you. Your body has fetched up against a wooden platform, head and shoulders and chest wedged against a corner of the wood; everything from your ribcage down is submerged in dark, cold water. There’s a pervasive bad smell about this place, like someone’s left the lid of a trash can open. And everything hurts: Your back feels like it’s covered in one gigantic bruise.

If you’d fallen just a little bit wrong, you bet you would have either drowned in the smelly water, or bashed your skull on these wooden platforms. It’s hard to tell whether you’re lucky or unlucky. Your clothes are all still attached, even your scarf; you don’t think that anything’s broken. You’re just thoroughly pounded, and even more thoroughly drenched. This place—and your whole body too, now—smells like a sewer.

A thought occurs to you, and your stomach sinks. Turning and bracing yourself on the platform, you lever yourself to your feet. Water gushes from your sodden clothes in an awkward symphony of noisome plops; wobbling, you jam your hands in your pockets.

…It’s just like you thought. The wrappers of the Monster Candy are soaked straight through, too thin to stand up to however long you were submerged. The baggie of cookies from Asgore is thoroughly crushed, leaked water turning the gingerbread monsters inside into so much gloppy mush. If not for the water itself so obviously being septic you might still be able to salvage them, but… eating any of this food now would be just asking to get poisoned.

It feels like a giant ghostly fist has reached into your middle and crumpled all your insides up into a tiny ball, like paper about to be thrown into a wastebasket. Your eyes are dry; your throat is closed up so tightly you doubt you could even squeak.

Everyone was so _generous_ to give you this food, and you—you’ve wasted it all. You’re such an _idiot._ The nice new clothes that Asriel and Chara gave you, too, are a smelly sodden mess.

It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed, too, but you’ve definitely broken your promise to return to them in Snowdin. MK has probably gotten in trouble because of you. Everything around you is unfamiliar—you’re further out in Waterfall than anyone would think to look for you, most likely. Still thigh-deep in the water, you rock from your heels to your toes.

There’s a path leading out of this tiny room, you notice; almost automatically, your feet start moving in that direction. Your skull feels so tightly packed that all you can feel is numbness, now.

In slow, tiny steps you pick your way towards the hall, passing tall heaps of junk and garbage. This at least explains the smell and how dirty the water is. You laugh a little, a tiny rasp; truly, you’re where you belong now.

What you see next steals your strength, and you slowly drift to a stop, staring.

The cave wall is open, here, and the water of the trash dump spills over the edge in a rushing waterfall. You can’t see to the other side of the abyss at all; venturing closer, you can’t see the bottom, either. Every now and then a piece of trash will detach from one of the mounds and go over, zooming down the waterfall and out of sight.

You take a deep breath and let it out. The current isn’t so strong that you can’t resist it, but it tugs at your legs nevertheless.

It would be so easy.

All you’d have to do is sit down and let the strength go out of you. This time, for sure, you wouldn’t be able to survive.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring absentmindedly out over the drop, the whole of your mind a yawning pit of sheer exhaustion. But a high-pitched noise shatters your reverie, and you startle. You hear it again: A tiny yap. That dog from earlier.

It’s too small to be able to reach the ground on its tiny little legs. It shouldn’t be in a place like this. Someone should get it back onto dry land where it’s safe.

Dreamlike and distant, feeling like you’re watching the scene from a million miles away, like you’re floating, like your head is full of static—you step backwards from the edge in tiny motions. Dragging your heavy body, you walk up the dirty river towards where you heard the dog’s barking come from.

It’s hard going; there are a lot of garbage mounds to avoid, and the path goes uphill. Even as the water gets more shallow, it seems to cling at your calves, beckoning you back towards the great falls. By the time you’re lifting your feet from the water with each step, you’re panting with effort, and your vision is going blurry.

“Oh………” says a soft voice from ahead of you, and you raise your chin.

There’s a monster standing in the path ahead, blocking your way. They’re like a big cartoon ghost, white like a hung sheet with wide trembling eyes, their body very slightly translucent.

“Pardon me…… are you……… a lost human…” they mumble.

All you can do is stare blankly, your hands heavy and useless at your sides.

“……it’s kinda awkward…… if you’re not………” the ghost goes on. “We’re looking… for a lost human…… but if you’re not… I can just go…”

Something flickers low in the nape of your neck, and you nod once, your belly squirming.

“Oh…… ok……” says the ghost, turning. “I think…… I found them…” they call, slightly louder.

Brisk footsteps echo on the ground, and someone else appears in the arched passageway: a human, a handsome grown-up with long brown hair, blue eyes, glasses, and neatly groomed facial hair—sideburns, mustache, and short goatee. You think their skin is a little lighter than yours, though it’s difficult to tell in your surroundings. They’re dressed like a librarian with a knit vest and a crisp white button-down shirt, and they survey you with a careful eye.

“Are you Frisk?” they ask. You blink at them and nod once, hesitant. The human nods. “Good work, Napstablook,” they say to the ghost, who says “oh gee” and fades, blushing. And to you: “Come this way, Frisk. There are some people who are going to be very glad to see you in one piece.”

With an effort, you lift one hand to pat at your ears, sure that there must be water in them or something making you mishear. The human takes you by the shoulder and steers you up the hill into a larger chamber, this one a crossroads with multiple paths leading in different directions.

This crossroads is crowded, filled with multiple figures, human and monster. But what immediately catches your eye is Chara standing in the center, their back to you: Their spine is ramrod straight, their hair tied up and away from their face, brittle tension in the line of their shoulders. They’re holding a massive trident in their hands, a red and glowing weapon that must be half again as tall as they are. They’re handing out orders to the people around them in clipped tones, all business.

Asriel’s hulking figure is hard to miss; you recognize Rufus, too, standing with his hand on a tearful MK’s back. There’s another human next to him, a tall sculpted black person in armor with their hair tied up and back out of their face like Chara; next to this person is an even taller monster with an undercut and shockingly red hair in a ponytail, red fins flaring out from either side of their blue face. They’re in armor that matches the human’s.

“We’ve got them,” the human steering you announces, and everyone in the group turns to look at you.

Maybe it’s just that they’re front and center, but you find it hard to take your eyes off Chara as they see you: Their eyes widen in their unusually pale face, they breathe in sharply. They do something with their hands so that the trident disappears, and then they’re charging towards you with an intensity that makes you gasp.

Chara skids to a halt a pace or two in front of you, raises their arms to waist height, seems to hesitate, biting their lip—and meets you in a rush, sweeping you up to their chest and holding you tight.

For a moment—longer than a moment—you’re unable to process what’s happening and why. Chara is warm and shivering, and their arms are gentle but firm, their fingers stroking lightly at your shoulder and the back of your head, combing through your wet hair. They don’t let you go, even though you’re soaked, even though you’re unspeakably dirty.

“Frisk,” they say, hushed, voice gone husky with some emotion you can’t decipher. “We’ve been looking for you for _hours._ I thought—I was afraid that—I’m so glad you’re all right. I’m so glad we’ve finally found you.”

Your hands raise automatically with the desire to grip Chara’s sweater; you ball them into fists in the air, struggling to control yourself. You broke the rules they set out for you—you worried them, caused them trouble. They’re going to flip over to furious with you any second now, you know.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

Chara shakes their head, stroking your hair. “This isn’t your fault, or MK’s, or anyone’s,” they soothe. “You don’t know this area. Not even MK realized that those paths weren’t safe, and they live here; there’s no way you could have known better. You were trying to come back, just like we told you to. It was an accident. You didn’t do anything wrong. And now you’ll know to check first, if something like this happens again.” They pull back slightly, bring their hands up to cup your face, thumbs stroking over and over your cheeks. “Are you all right? Ree—”

“I know,” Asriel says. He’s beside you; you don’t know how that happened, all your attention trained on Chara up until this second. He kneels on the stone floor, holding out a big paw. “Frisk, are you hurt anywhere? I’ll heal you.”

Chara takes a deep breath and lets their hands slide down to your shoulders, like they have to constantly touch you and make sure that you’re real. They turn over their shoulder. “Undyne, contact the other Royal Guards and let them know we can stop searching.”

“On it,” says the tall monster with fins. Now that they’re facing you, you can see that there’s an eyepatch over their left eye. They take a smartphone like Chara’s out from you don’t know where and start to thumb in commands.

“Yo,” MK says shakily from where they’re standing with Rufus. “I’m real sorry about all this, Frisk. I didn’t think—I had no idea—I didn’t want to put you in danger like this, man. I feel like such a turd.”

“It’s not your fault either,” Rufus says bracingly. “Really us Royal Guards should’ve gone up and checked the docks to make sure they were still stable after all the runoff we’ve been getting lately. And hey, now we know to put up a sign or something to block ‘em off ‘til they _are_ safe to walk on again.”

 _It’s okay,_ you sign awkwardly around Chara’s back. _I know you didn’t want this to happen._

“Your friend came and got us right away,” the other human Royal Guard says, smiling at you. They have a very deep, musical voice, elegant and friendly. “Chara and Asriel ordered a search immediately after. We’ve been combing Waterfall to make sure that we found you as soon as possible.”

“Right, done,” says Undyne, stowing their phone away again. “Rufus, you can take MK here and go home now. We found the little punk, we can take the rest from here.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Rufus replies, grinning, and turns to MK. “C’mon, kiddo.”

“See you ‘round,” MK says over their shoulder, and you give them a wobbly thumbs up.

Asriel takes your hand, sending heat through your body. “Yikes, Frisk, you’re a mess,” he says, cringing. “That was quite a fall you took. We’re all really lucky you landed where you did… hang on, I’ll get you fixed up.”

Chara still hasn’t let you go; they shift one arm to encircle your back and shoulders, holding your face to rest against their chest with their other hand while Asriel’s magic washes over you and eases your bruises.

You squirm this time. “I’m dirty,” you protest weakly.

“Who _cares?”_ Chara says, and they rest their cheek atop your head. “Clothes can be washed. Your safety is so much more important. If you’d been left to wander around alone, hurt and afraid……” They trail off and hold you even tighter. “I’m so glad we found you. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

Realization starts to sink in, very slowly: They _searched_ for you when you were lost. It’s not just that they’re okay with you being back, but that they were afraid for you when you were missing. They mobilized their soldiers to look for you.

Without you even having to call for help at all—as soon as they heard that you were in trouble, they came running.

Against all odds—against everything you’ve accepted as common sense— _they want you around._

Heat bubbles up in your eyes and streaks down your face before you even realize what’s happening, and a long moan pushes its way up your throat after it. “Frisk?” someone (Asriel, you think) says, alarmed; another sob comes up after the first, and a second and a third, until you’re bawling so loudly it echoes against the stone ceiling, howling at the top of your lungs, ‘til your nose is running and your throat starts to rasp.

Chara holds you tight and refuses to let go. You can feel their heartbeat close and rapid against your temple. You swear you can feel the thrum of their red soul. Asriel’s big hand strokes the length of your back, featherlight gentle; he keeps saying “There, there, everything will be alright” over and over. Every time your vision clears you can see kind smiles on friendly faces.

You wipe your snotty face on your sleeve so you won’t choke on your own mucus. Chara kisses your forehead; Asriel hugs you both loosely, so that you’ll have room to wriggle free if you need to.

You’re wanted. _You’re wanted._ As little as you deserve it, as strange as it might seem—there’s no other reason that these people would possibly go to these lengths for someone like you. If your eyes didn’t hurt so much, if your toes weren’t freezing, if you didn’t smell bad, you’d never be able to believe that you aren’t dreaming right now.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Asriel says, gentle. “You’ll feel much better when you’re all laundered and dry.”

“That sounds like a _wonderful_ idea,” Chara says thickly, and Asriel laughs.

 

 

The bathtub at Undyne’s house is much smaller than the one at the castle in Home, but it’s still big enough for you to stretch your legs out in. The water stays hot no matter how long you’re sitting in it, and despite that Chara is taking a shower in the stall at the other end of the room while you’re sitting here.

“Undyne isn’t a big fan of the cold,” Chara had told you while you were getting situated. “She even has a fridge for keeping her food warm instead of cold. You can take your time and soak—just don’t wait so long that you turn into a prune.”

You’re going to have to lounge around for a while no matter what, though, because all of your clothes aside from the shorts and tights you weren’t wearing today anyway are in the washer and dryer right now. Undyne set out bathrobes for both of you, the smaller one even close to your size for some reason, but you’d be embarrassed to go out in front of everyone else without at least your underpants on. Everyone here’s nicer than your doctors, and Asriel and Undyne are monsters, even, but… you’re tired of people commenting on your body, and you’d like to avoid the possibility even if it’s a slim one.

Chara finishes before you do. You only watch from the corner of your eye, but they reach out for their bathrobe and pull it on before stepping out of the shower stall. It’s Undyne-sized and therefore so big on them that the hem nearly drags on the bathroom floor, but they just cinch the fuzzy belt tight around their waist like it’s no problem.

“I don’t know about your shirt, but your underwear ought to be done by now,” they say as they stretch. “I can get it for you when I join everyone else, if you’d like.”

You lift your hands from the water to sign _Yes please,_ and Chara smiles at you before they leave the room. As promised, they’re back in less than five minutes with all your clothes but your shirt, leaving them on the counter in a neat pile.

“Cleaned your glasses, too,” they say, leaving them on top of the pile. “They weren’t even dented. Alphys builds these things tough—she wears glasses herself, so I’d expect she’s used to wanting something durable.” They clear their throat. “I’ll be back to check on you if you’re not out in half an hour, but—aside from that, take your time if you need to. I know today has been rough.”

They close the door again, and you sink under the water, breathing out through your nose in a thick stream of bubbles until you’ve got no breath left. You wait there for a moment, considering, lungs starting to burn, then sit back up, gasping when your head breaks the surface. You have to snort the water out of your nose, but there’s no more suds in your hair at least.

Creeping out of the bathroom and into the main room of Undyne’s house, all dressed from the waist down but with only the big fluffy bathrobe on your top half, is a strange feeling. Everyone else is already out and waiting for you—Undyne is sitting at the grand piano and playing something that sounds vaguely classical; Innig, the human Royal Guard, is bent beside her in something that’s either yoga or ballet. (Ballet, you decide when she rises up onto her toes.) Liron, the human who found you with Napstablook, is on one side of the kitchen table; Chara, dressed but with still-damp hair, leans into Asriel’s chest on the other side. There’s enough room there for you, so you go and sit down there.

“Napstablook went back home while you were still in the bath,” Liron informs you. “They had to get back to work.”

“Still struggling on that latest score, I see,” Asriel remarks. “Mettaton’s nothing if not demanding. He could stand to cut them some slack—they _are_ cousins and all.”

“They say they don’t mind a challenge as long as they can stay involved, so isn’t it fine?” Undyne calls from the piano. “Like, he—uh, heck, I know that guy’s obnoxious as anything, but he takes care of the people who work with him. Most of ‘em anyway.”

Something starts to whistle faintly.

“Hot water’s ready,” Chara announces beside you, not even looking up. “Someone get that.”

“Yes, Liron,” Innig says, still balancing on one foot by the piano. “Be a dear and get that.”

Liron turns and gives you a look like _can you believe her?_ , and instantly you begin to stand up.

Chara’s hand shoots out, and your shoulder hits it as you rise; they gently pull you back down. “Liron can get it,” they say. “You’ve had a long day. You’re tired. You’re young. Let the grown-ups pamper you for a while.”

Even so, you fidget while Liron sighs and goes to fuss with the stove.

Undyne’s house is small and neat, nothing like MK’s tales of her heroism had been leading you to expect it might have been like. The outside of the building looks like an angry fish; the inside is brightly tiled and wallpapered with a cute kitchenette, the walls covered in photos with various medieval-looking (and some ripped-straight-from-an-anime) weapons held in display racks under them. The photos are mostly of Undyne with another monster, this one yellow, pudgy, and reptilian; there are more of her with Chara and Innig, though, a few with Asgore in them too. Some show the Guard Dogs from Snowdin, or other monsters in armor; there are plenty of monsters you don’t recognize here and there, but one has Undyne bench-pressing several children, one of whom is MK.

“Tea, cocoa, coffee, who wants what,” Liron says from over by the stovetop.

“I want chai if there’s any of that left,” Innig announces.

“There is. But you know that takes longer to steep, so you’ll have to come get it yourself.”

“I’m fine with that.” She arches forward, eyes nearly closed, gripping the toe of her shoe as her torso bows up. She’s still balanced on one foot.

“Suit yourself, sis. Anyone else?”

“Gimme the lapsang,” Undyne orders, rounding off her arpeggios with a flourish.

“Snowdrop for me, please,” Asriel says. “Or coffee if there’s none left.”

“Hot chocolate,” Chara says flatly. “Frisk, what do you want? You had chamomile at Toriel and Asgore’s, didn’t you?”

You yawn instead of answering, drooping over the table.

“Are you fine with hot chocolate too?” they press. “It has the least caffeine, and we need to get you into bed soon, I think.”

You nod.

“Chai, lapsang, two coffees, two hot chocolates,” Liron says. “Everything but the chai will be ready in three minutes or so.”

“About bed—where are you guys planning on staying tonight? Gerson’s?” Undyne asks over the top of the piano. “’Cause I’d put you all up here, but I don’t think there’s room.”

“Gerson’s sounds like the best idea, if he wouldn’t mind,” Asriel replies. To you he says, “Gerson is a friend of my parents’, and he’s also Innig and Liron’s adoptive father. He runs a shop in this area—he just moved here from one of the smaller grottos so that everyone would be able to have enough room, he lives really close now.”

“And he wouldn’t mind,” Innig says, setting both feet on the floor. “You know he likes the company.”

“Drinks,” Liron announces, setting three mugs on the table in front of you. “They’re hot.” Ze then goes to deliver Undyne’s tea before returning to sit across from you.

You wrap your hands around the mug and inhale the steam before taking a sip. It’s so hot you nearly scald your tongue, but it’s thick and sweet. You feel more contented the more you drink.

“Come here,” says Chara over their own mug. “You’re still nodding.”

So you scoot up to them. You swear you just lean on them for a moment, but the next thing you know you’re being shaken very gently awake so that you can put your freshly dry shirt on in the other room.

Every time your eyelids lower you feel like you’re going to open your eyes again in a pile on the floor; only holding Chara and Asriel’s hands are you able to leave Undyne’s house and make the five-minute walk to where Innig and Liron live.

Gerson is a bent-backed tortoise monster with a booming, gregarious laugh and a scraggly white beard. He invites all three of you in with a cheery _Wahaha!!_ and sets his children to preparing room for you all to sleep in back while he prepares dinner.

You drift off again waiting, held tight against Chara’s side while they sit in the living room. In between brief wakenings you get the impression of Gerson’s home, which is built into the grotto in the side of the cave wall; it’s a split level with his room, the kitchen, and the living room all on the same floor as the storefront, and Liron and Innig’s rooms up the short flight of stairs with the bath and the library, the latter of which being where you and Chara and Asriel will sleep.

Eventually you are brought to the kitchen table, where Gerson is already setting out brimming bowls of soup for all six of you. The soup is heavy with chewy shellfish and tender lumps of crab, flavored with herbs you’ve never tasted, with—strangely—slices of unusually tart apple and bits of seeds and sweet peppers floating in between.

“Gerson, we have to watch Frisk,” Chara complains in between spoonfuls, blushing. “Are you trying to kill us?”

Your host cackles, and you tilt your head sleepily, wondering what subtext you’re missing.

“Don’t worry about it if you don’t understand,” Innig says, but you note that her ears are subtly red. Liron eats stoically and without comment.

“I’ve got crab apple tarts in the oven too,” Gerson informs you with a wink. “Plenty to go around for everyone!”

Full as your stomach is getting, your mouth still waters at the thought, but then Innig and Liron are gathering up the plates, and you yawn and rest your arms on the table and your face on top of them, thinking to rest for just a moment.

 

 

You wake to sharp, quiet huffs of breath and the sounds of hushed sobs.

You hold very still and open your eyelids just a crack. The room you’re in is dark, lit from under the cracks of a door. You’re lying on your side on a soft mattress with blankets draped over you, and the sound is coming from close by.

Slowly, your vision adjusts to the low light, and you understand what you’re looking at: Asriel sits against the wall, with Chara in his arms. They cling to his chest, shaking, as he runs his big hands down the length of their back, stroking and gentling them.

“I would have done it,” they say, as if with great bitterness. “Thinking of it is—impossible. I don’t even remember how long it’s been, since I last—but if they had, if they’d died because we had left them unattended—I was thinking about it all while we had the search out.”

“Frisk’s okay, though,” Asriel says, ducking his head down to press kisses into Chara’s hair, across the nape of their neck and the bow of their hunched shoulders. “They’re okay. We’re okay. They’re alive and they’re here, and so are we.”

“I would have done it, though,” Chara goes on. There’s a weird frenetic undertone to their voice, some sort of jittery panic-attack-comedown directionless energy. “I would have wound back. Undone however many years of everyone’s lives, hoping that it wouldn’t change things so much that Frisk would never come here at all, so that we could save them. I was trying to work myself up to it all the way, until Liron and Napstablook came out of the dump with them.”

“They’re okay, though,” Asriel says. “You don’t have to worry about what-ifs now. It’s okay. Frisk is just fine, and so is everyone.”

“Ree,” Chara says thickly. “I still would’ve done it. I would’ve overturned as much as I had to of what we’ve built, of everyone else’s lives, everyone’s progress, just for their life. I would’ve done it and it—it scares me to death, knowing that.”

Asriel is quiet for a while.

“If it’d make you feel better,” he says, “why not make a save point now? I mean, Alphys and them will want you to anyway for tomorrow. But now, here, when you know that everyone is all right. That way, in case the worst happens—you’ll be able to know where you’re going, before you choose.”

“That’s not a solution to the root problem,” Chara replies, a little petulantly.

Asriel nuzzles their forehead. “Maybe not. But I think it’d make you feel better, and I think it’d be strategically smart too. You’ve always used your power over this timeline to protect us, and this is the same thing. Frisk’s one of us now too.” A momentary quiet, as Chara breathes, as Asriel keeps showering their head and upper back in little kisses. “Then we can google gender-neutral terms for maternal instincts on the undernet until we get tired.”

 _“Ree,”_ Chara protests, giggling.

You don’t understand what they’re talking about at all, except that it involves you, and that your idle thoughts earlier of going over the waterfall now make you as dizzy as if you’re looking down from the top of a skyscraper. You roll over onto your back.

“Frisk?” Asriel says, softly. “Did we wake you?”

You could just not answer, pretend that you’re still asleep, but slowly, carefully, you sit up. Both of them are looking at you—Asriel with his arms still protectively around Chara, and Chara looking at you from where they’re curled up to his chest.

 _How come you’re awake?_ you ask, hoping your gestures will be clear enough for them to understand you despite the lighting.

Chara straightens up a little, reaches out to pat your head just once, lightly.

“It just caught up to me all at once how close we came to losing you today, is all,” they say. “I can play the brave leader out in public, but I’ll have to panic about things later in private when it’s all over. It’s terribly embarrassing, so don’t tell anyone.”

You smile just a little, scooting to the edge of the mattress. Asriel lowers his arm and Chara opens theirs, making just enough space for you to squeeze in between them.

It’s very comfortable, here. Chara holds you close, apparently as tight as they dare to; Asriel is solid and warm. Between the two of them, you feel—you don’t have a word for it, not really, but it’s nice. You think you could forget a lot of your worries, here.

“I’m very glad that you came back to us safely,” Chara says. “Thank you for staying.”

The way that they phrase it—makes you wonder, a little, just how much they know or suspect. But more than that—they’re thanking you. They’re not getting angry; they’re not even scolding you. They’re just thanking you, with a kindness that makes you feel like you’re about to start crying again.

“Chara?” Asriel says from above you. “How do you feel right now?”

There’s a brief pause when it feels like something—something is building, in the air of the room. There’s no sense of dread—more like anticipation, that briskness in the air right before a rain, like something marvelous is right around the corner. Your temples pound, just once, briefly; something seems to flash, although you have no idea where the light could have come from. The pain in your head dissipates immediately afterwards, leaving you feeling warm.

Chara’s hold on you tightens; they shift to rest their chin atop your head, wedging you more firmly between them and Asriel. You sigh happily, closing your eyes again, basking in the sensation of—

Safety. That’s it. _That’s_ the word you were looking for.

When Chara finally speaks, their voice is so quiet you almost miss it.

“Determined.”


	4. flirt with death, tease the inevitable, give the void a saucy wink.

You wake snug against Asriel’s warm furry chest with Chara’s arms around you, Asriel’s draped over you both. The blankets and comforter laid over you are heavy; it’s very warm. You feel more comfortable and secure now than you have yet in the underground—much more comfortable and secure than you can remember ever waking up in the past.

Chara sighs and shifts, their hold on you tightening. You snuggle in closer, and Asriel snuffles quietly, pulling you both back in. You hum softly in contentment at the pressure, and observe the still-dark room you’re in with your eyes open only a crack.

A long table and benches seem to have been displaced to make room for the three of you to sleep, and all the walls are lined with tall bookcases, each and every shelf positively crammed with books. The room’s not square—it seems to have six walls, from what you can tell lying down. There’s a chandelier with lightbulbs in it hanging from the ceiling, a little to the left of where the mattress ends. Which is nice, because it would be hard to get completely comfortable worrying about what would happen if the chain holding it up were to break.

There’s none of that musty smell that you associate with old book-filled rooms; squinting, you’re able to make out a cute basket on the long table that’s filled with what you’re pretty sure is potpourri. There’s another like it hung from the door, which you notice has got another small shelf of books hanging from it. There are those little window seat things in between some bookshelves, loaded with cushions, each one an easy height for someone small like you or Gerson to get up on. The overall effect is very cozy.

You close your eyes and rest your cheek back against Chara’s chest, quite ready to go right back to sleep, but the next moment stumpy footsteps approach the door, and a very powerful fist bangs on it, making Chara bolt upright with a yelp, clutching you painfully close. Asriel groans.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey! Wahaha!!” Gerson calls from the other side of the door. Chara curses under their breath, and Asriel groans again, even more piteously.

“I’d get up if I were you, if I didn’t want to miss breakfast _and_ my important appointments,” Gerson goes on mercilessly. “Up with you, now.”

“He’s right, fuck it all,” Chara grumbles, letting go of you and stretching. “Ree, come on; we’ve got to get dressed.”

The bookshelves create privacy enough for everyone to change without being looked at; Chara hands you your shirt, shorts, and tights, folding your jacket, pants, and scarf up to be put away. (“We’re going to Hotland today, and its name is extremely indicative of its average temperature.”) Asriel wears a sleeveless shirt with a long ruffly-edged skirt of light fabric, all pale purples and silvers; Chara emerges in jeans and a dark T-shirt that has a picture of a red dagger on it with stars and nebulae in the background.

On your way back to the kitchen, you’re able to get a glimpse of the other rooms on the higher end of the grotto—one has a four-poster bed draped in gauzy curtains, cute furniture, and white Christmas lights strung along the edges of the ceiling; the other has dark wooden furniture, sober colors on the bedclothes, and several more bookshelves aligned there. You think you can guess whose room is whose. Gerson is already headed out to the storefront when you arrive; in the living room Innig is doing stretches, wearing a short dress and tights instead of her armor. Liron is in the kitchen frying eggs, toast, and bacon all in a pan; while you watch, fascinated, ze reaches out to the spice rack and gestures impatiently, causing one of the little shakers to leap through the air into hir hand.

You grab Chara’s sleeve uncertainly and tug, pointing; they look over to see what’s gotten your attention and smile. “Liron can use magic—human magic,” they tell you. “Even with Gerson teaching hir—Gerson’s a survivor from the era that monsters and humans were still at war, and monsters lived on the surface; he knows as much about human magic as any monster alive does. But even with Gerson teaching hir ze can’t do much more than little useful tricks like that. Whether that reflects on Liron’s abilities or Gerson’s teaching, no one is quite sure. It would be nice to get hir a proper tutor, someday.”

Chara talks like that’s an actual possibility, even though the runes speaking of monster history were so hopeless. You wish you knew more about the situation, but—well, there will be time to ask later, you guess.

Breakfast is French toast; the eggs are sweet and gently spicy, sunny side up and scrambled. The bacon is just a little sweet too, with a vague maple syrup-y hint to their flavor. You shovel everything into your face with gusto; Liron smiles as ze loads up a second helping for you.

“There’s just something really gratifying about having somebody enjoy food you made this much,” ze says, leaning hir head on one hand, and ze’s so handsome that you nearly choke. You ought to have a flirty response to that—grownups love it when kids flirt, don’t they?—but for some reason you can’t think of any.

“You’re killing poor Frisk, let up on the charm a little,” Chara observes, and you squeal out loud and hide your face behind your glass of juice.

“What?” Liron says blankly.

“Isn’t ze just the worst?” Innig sounds fond. “Ze’s like this _all the time._ You’ve got to feel sorry for Astis.”

“Why are we feeling sorry for Astis?” Liron sounds genuinely puzzled.

“That right there is exactly why.”

“As for me, I’d just be happy to have someone respond to _my_ cooking like that,” Asriel says. His voice is smooth, but the tone of descending to cut off a sibling squabble carries loud and clear.

“I’ll be sure to praise you more next time you make me breakfast, then,” Chara replies lightly. “Like _‘isn’t that just delicious?’_ ”

They say the last bit in an overexaggerated, unctuous voice like they’re doing an impression, and this time it’s Asriel’s turn to choke on his breakfast. Chara giggles a little and pats his back, pouring him another glass of water.

Undyne arrives just as breakfast ends; she waits up front, chatting with Gerson, while you pass plates to Innig to wash. Liron waves you all off to dry things on hir own, reminding you that ze doesn’t have to go to work and doesn’t have any prior engagements, and that it’s fine.

“Then I’ll be seeing you guys later tonight,” Innig says, waving to you all as she turns to face the direction of Snowdin.

“Tonight—dammit, that’s right, tonight’s anime night.” Chara slaps their forehead. “I was expecting to be home by tonight, but in that case we might as well just stay over at Alphys’ place.”

“That ought to be fine—she has plenty of room, and it’s as good a time as any for Frisk to see how they fare with the whole gang,” Asriel says amiably. He holds up one big finger and tells you solemnly, “Anime night is a grand tradition between us, Alphys and Undyne, Sans and Papyrus, all the fallen humans, and sometimes Alphys’ friends Bratty and Catty too. There’s snacks and squishy couches. It’s pretty great.”

You know most of the people he’s listed and like the ones you do know, so you give him a tentative smile and a thumbs up, to which he grins in response. “That’s the spirit.”

“C’mon, you guys,” Undyne says. She’s already starting to walk away. “I’m gonna go with you, at least to the lab. Haven’t seen Alphy in person for a couple days, so I wanna say hi before we both have to go to work.”

Chara and Asriel look at each other and join hands. “That sounds fair enough,” Chara says, smiling crookedly.

“Da—darn lovebirds,” Undyne growls, shaking her fist, grinning all the while. She holds out a hand to you. “C’mon, punk, we still got a lot of Waterfall to get through before we’re there!!!”

So the four of you set off down the corridor, emerging into a chamber filled with Echo Flowers and waterfalls. There are plaques with runes on the walls, and you tug Chara’s hand and point to them.

“What, the history exhibits?” they ask, surprised.

 _I had MK read the other ones to me,_ you explain. _If it’s not too much trouble, would you tell me the rest…?_

Chara glances over to Asriel briefly, then smiles at you. “All right. Let’s see… Hurt, beaten, and fearful for our lives, we surrendered to the humans. Seven of their greatest magicians sealed us underground with a magic spell. Anything can enter through the seal, but only beings with a powerful soul can leave.” They lead you to the next plaque, turning to you as they do. “You and I and all the other humans passed through the seal when we fell through that hole, although you might not remember it.”

You try to think back. There was something… shimmery when you looked up from the flowerbed, wasn’t there? Something like the surface of a soap bubble.

“From the inside, that bubble we passed through is like a wall. None here are strong enough to break through—a single human soul isn’t enough to make it through. Ahem… There is only one way to reverse this spell,” they read. “If a huge power, equivalent to seven human souls, attacks the barrier… it will be destroyed.

“But this cursed place has no entrances or exits,” they go on, leading you to the next plaque. “There is no way a human could come here. We will remain trapped down here forever.”

That’s the end of the plaques here, and so your party moves on.

The next area is dark, its path narrow and mazelike, lit by faintly glowing grass and much more brightly glowing mushrooms. At one turn you find a little monster with a tub of water on its back hopping around watering the greenery; at another you find a tiny white monster in a blue shirt, who vibrates at you excitedly and greets you with a jaunty “hOI!”

“Hello, Temmie,” Chara says, smiling at this monster. (You think you see Undyne roll her eye in the background, but when you turn her face is calm and blank.)

The dark path continues, this time lit by crystals and lanterns along the way; you stick close to Chara while they lead your party. They cut through a shallow pool of water and then take a hard left through more glowing grass.

Another shallow pool lies before you, this one sprouting occasional Echo Flowers; beautiful golden lights rise from the water and shimmer in the air around you, like fireflies.

Since you’re holding their hand, you can feel Chara go stiff; looking up at them, you see that their eyes are narrowed, their face tight as if in pain. Asriel is looking away.

“I hate this place,” they say quietly, dropping your hand. “I’m going on ahead. Come on, Ree.”

Chara rushes through the water in long quick steps, disappearing around the bend.

“Sorry,” Asriel says, patting your shoulder very softly. “Chara and I will be waiting up ahead, so you can take your time if you want.” And off he goes.

Undyne scratches her head and shrugs. “Sometimes I wonder coming through here if I should just… overwrite these dumb Echo Flowers with whatever. But somebody would come and recreate that conversation anyway, even if I did. Makes you wonder if people ever really think about what it feels like for those two, having something like this memorialized even though it’s painful for them.”

You frown up at her, and she shrugs, smiling lopsidedly at you.

“Just listen as you go, squirt,” she tells you. “I think you’ll figure it out.”

The water here doesn’t reach over the top of your boots, which at least is something. Undyne lets you set the pace, as you bend and listen to each flower.

 _Hmm… if I say my wish… you promise you won’t laugh at me?_ says one of the speakers. You can tell that this is the continuation of what MK told you was a conversation between Chara and Asriel from when they were kids, but you can’t tell who’s supposed to be who yet; these voices are so old and worn with time that they don’t sound like anybody.

 _Of course I won’t laugh!_ says the other one.

_Someday, I’d like to climb this mountain we’re all buried under. Standing under the sky, looking at the world all around… That’s my wish._

Passing the next flower, you hear the second speaker laughing while the first one protests. Your stomach gets a weird squeezing feeling in it.

 _Sorry, it’s just funny…_ the second speaker goes on. You can’t put your finger on why exactly, but you’re suddenly very sure that this was Chara. _That’s my wish, too._

You step out of the water and onto dry land, tapping the toes of your boots on the ground to shake the dampness off so you won’t slip. Undyne tramps up beside you a moment later.

“They still have that old legend about Mt. Ebott on the surface, kid?” she asks, gazing off into the distance. You follow her stare and see that there’s another plaque with runes on it on the far wall. “The one about anyone who climbs the mountain disappearing?”

Dry-mouthed, you nod.

The awkward silence goes on for a few moments. Undyne isn’t in her armor today, and the little glowing lights reflect in her red hair like she’s crowned in yellow stars.

Lightly, you reach out and touch at Undyne’s forearm. Her skin is clammy and has a weird texture under your fingers, like an amphibious animal. She turns and blinks down at you.

 _What does that last plaque say?_ you ask her hesitantly.

She makes a face and scratches her head again. “Ah, hell. Yeah, you would want to know. Maybe I’m not the right person to explain all of this, but… you’re gonna hear it somewhere. It’s still sore for Chara and Asriel, so I dunno if they’d tell you straight out, but it’s better that you hear it from somebody who knows them and doesn’t try to make it out all glurgey like they’re martyrs, y’know?

“However,” Undyne says, pointing at the runes as she reads, “there is a prophecy. The Angel… The One Who Has Seen The Surface… they will return. And the underground will go empty.”

 _What does it all mean?_ you ask.

“Once, when they were kids—back before everybody found out how much Chara hates humans, back when everyone was still calling them the hope of humans and monsters—they tried to make Asriel into the angel from the prophecy.

“You remember from the rest of the history exhibit that only something with a strong soul can cross the Barrier, right, punk?” Undyne says. You nod. “Even though human souls are so much stronger than monsters’, a human soul alone isn’t enough to cross the Barrier. You need at least a human soul and a monster soul too. Chara planned to have Asriel take their soul and cross the Barrier, and collect six human souls from the village where they used to live so that the monsters could go free. So Asriel would see the surface and return, and the underground’d go empty, just like the prophecy says, right?”

But monsters are still trapped in Mt. Ebott, and when Asriel called up your and Chara’s souls, theirs sure looked like it was still attached to them, however it works.

Your stomach feels all squinched-up still. Undyne is looking at you expectantly, so you sign slowly, _Can a soul be taken from a living human, or…?_

“Only a dead one,” Undyne says, shrugging a little, like _welp._ “In the end Asriel had to get his parents to stop Chara. So this stuff… it’s bad memories for both of ‘em.

“But listen, Frisk. Our situation’s a lot more hopeful than these old runes make it seem!!! Asriel’s really devoted to finding a solution where we’ll be able to break the Barrier without anybody having to die. There’s—what, eight humans living with us now that you’re here? The Royal Scientist—that’s my girlfriend Alphys, who we’re all going to see—is working on a way to harness the power of human souls without actually separating them from their hosts. Once that’s finished, we can break the Barrier ourselves! So you gotta stay hopeful! When all our hearts are beating as one, there’s nothing we can’t accomplish!”

She says this with a clenched fist and an enormous pointy grin, and despite everything you’ve just heard, you can’t help but smile back. It’s so over-the-top Saturday morning anime that it’s charming.

Undyne leads you across a bridge and up to a tall rock formation. The ceiling opens up above you; the distant sky, or what passes for sky down here you guess, is red. You can see distant pipes and what looks like the silhouette of factories or skyscrapers, too vague to make out clearly.

There’s a cave opening in the tall rocky outcropping, and as they promised, Chara and Asriel are there waiting for you.

“Sorry we took a minute, I was explaining some stuff to Frisk,” Undyne calls, raising a hand in greeting.

“Better you than me,” Chara says dryly. “We should get going—don’t want to keep Alphys waiting for too long.”

But even so, they wait for you, and reach out to take your hand as you walk.

Through the cave opening, you emerge onto a walkway that overlooks that river that’s been running through the whole underground. Huge blocks of ice float along it; you peer down at them from a safe distance, bemused.

“That’s the cooling system for the Core, the building that processes energy for us,” Asriel says, looking exceptionally proud. “I helped come up with how it works. This ice is made in Snowdin and shipped down the river into Hotland.”

Continuing down the path, you pass a tall electric sign with scrolling letters— _WELCOME TO HOTLAND!_ it proclaims in cheerful caps. There’s light at the end of the tunnel here; hand in Chara’s, you follow it until you emerge.

Your first impression of Hotland is that you’ve walked into a wave of solid heat. It’s dry, at least, but you can almost feel yourself starting to sweat already.

The ground under your feet is tight-packed brown stone and earth; the distant cave walls are gray stone. Bubbling all around is bright liquid magma.

“There are magical safety nets, but be careful anyway,” Asriel advises. You gulp and nod, sticking close to Chara.

Your party crosses a wooden bridge. There’s—for some reason—a water cooler propped on the next solid rock platform, though you’re not complaining; all of you stop to drink a cup. Undyne especially looks uncomfortable here in the heat.

Past here there’s a crossroads. “That way,” Chara says, pointing to the stairs going down on your right, “leads to the ferry. That way—” left, this time “—goes over to the elevators, for people who don’t have the patience to trek through the heat to get to the hotel and New Home. Up front is the lab.”

The last bit of their explanation was a little unnecessary, you think, because the huge white building rising up from the brown stone has a big sign proclaiming LAB over its doors. Nevertheless, you just nod and follow Chara and the others inside.

The interior of the lab is all pale white, gray, and green; it’s brightly lit (making you extra grateful for your new glasses as they darken slightly to compensate) and generously air conditioned. There’s an escalator built into the wall nearby, probably leading up to the second floor; next to it a huge monitor is mounted on the wall, and near the monitor is an extremely cluttered desk with a desktop computer nestled in between stacks of papers, anime figurines, and little lizard-shaped cups. A monster is sitting hunched over in the chair there, scowling at the screen as they tap away on the keyboard; they’re yellow and reptilian and wearing a lab coat. It’s hard to see because of their posture, but you think they’re on the chubby side; they’re wearing glasses with thick rims and have buck teeth.

Undyne sneaks up behind the monster and leans down to look over their shoulder; when Asriel makes to draw closer she throws a hand up at him like STOP and scowls; he holds up his hands in surrender and settles. You guess his claws would be really clicky and obvious against the tile and all. Chara rolls their eyes and shakes their head silently, an indulgent smile on their face.

Undyne waits for about a minute in silence. The lizard monster is so focused on their work that they don’t seem to notice her at all. Finally, Undyne drops her chin to rest on the monster’s head. “Whatcha workin on, Alphy?”

The monster, who you think is safe to assume is the Alphys you’ve been hearing so much about, yelps and windmills their—no, _her,_ everyone’s referred to Alphys as a she—arms and slumps back against Undyne, who cackles and wraps both arms around her middle.

“J-j-just k-killing t-time b-before everyone g-gets here,” she replies at last, “and you are the absolute w-worst, are you t-trying to kill me or something.”

“Nah, you’re just cool and intense when you’re working,” Undyne says, grinning. “And you’re cute when you’re surprised.”

Alphys slaps at her girlfriend’s arm lightly, but she looks pleased. “Are, ahhh, are you just here to be a cute nuisance, or do you need something?”

Undyne jerks her thumb at you, Asriel, and Chara. “I’m here to drop this lot off—and,” here her grin widens, “to be a cute nuisance, yeah.”

Alphys sputters. She still looks pleased.

She and Undyne hug for a moment or so longer, and then Undyne releases her. Alphys comes trotting up to the three of you then, wringing her hands. She’s just about your height, so the top of her head only comes up to Chara’s shoulder, and is several inches lower than Asriel’s armpit.

“Y-you must b-be Frisk!” she says with a smile. Her expression’s tinged with a little anxiety, but when you reach out to shake her hand, she clasps it in both of hers very gently. Her skin is scaly and cool to the touch, smooth and gently bumpy in a way that makes you want to pet it. (You don’t do that, because you know it would be rude.) “I-I’ve seen you a, ah, a few times over the s-security cameras, s-so it’s nice to finally meet you. I heard about you from, um, my assistants Prase and Sans too, ehehe…”

 _I’ve heard a lot about you too,_ you tell her when she lets your hands go. _Everyone’s been talking a lot about your project._

Alphys laughs again, a little nervously. “Wow… N-no pressure or anything, I guess.”

 _I only heard good things,_ you tell her staunchly, and she grins very awkwardly.

“And rightly so,” Asriel chimes in. “You’ve been doing such good work. Everyone’s really proud of you, you know.”

Alphys pushes her glasses up on her snout and lowers her eyelids at him, smile going so smarmy you’re shocked and a little delighted. “Way to lay it on thick, _Your Majesty,”_ she says with a little snort of a giggle.

Asriel throws up his hands, mock-exasperated. “I’m just _saying.”_

“Hehe. Yeah, sure, sure.” She turns to Chara. “Um… I hate to cut all of this short, but Sans and Prase are already waiting a-and I think this is going to take a while, even without, um, any sort of complications. So…”

Chara nods, serious. “Yes. I’m ready. I expect that since I’m only here to oversee and help in the event of anything going wrong, I won’t be able to participate. So…”

“That’s right—I’m doing it,” says a voice from the other end of the room. You turn, as does everyone else; Prase is emerging from behind an automatic sliding door. They smile a little as they walk up to join you; it’s rather mirthless-looking in your opinion. “Alphys and Sans and I figured that ought to help serve as extra motivation, if you need it.”

The look that Chara gives them is equal parts dry and fond. “You, my friend, are twisted.”

Prase laughs, gathers up the sides of their lab coat, and does a curtsey.

Alphys sighs, bringing your attention back to her. “A-at any rate, we’re g-going to be busy here for, um, quite a while probably. Even if we’re able to get started right away.”

“Ree, Frisk, why don’t you two go explore Hotland by yourselves?” Chara suggests. “There will be more to do that way than if you’re just hanging around here. I can text you when we’re done or if you need anything; just remember to be back for anime night.”

“That sounds like a good idea to me,” says Asriel. “What do you think, Frisk?”

Anxiety nibbles at your sleeves at the idea of wandering around without Chara, but Asriel is okay. He loves Chara, they love him, and he’s been kind to you thus far. You think you’ll feel safe enough with him. So you make the OK sign with your right hand and nod.

“All right, then—let’s get this show on the road,” Chara says.

“Wait—what about Frisk’s phone?”

“Th-that’s right!” Alphys exclaims, and she digs in one of the pockets of her coat, coming up with a little smartphone like Chara’s. “S-Sans, um, mentioned t-to me that you needed one. So I, ah, I decided to put a little something together for you. I-it’s probably not as sophisticated as what you’re used to on the surface! But! It still ought to work, I mean, it’s got texting, you’re connected to the undernet, it’ll do items for you, everything. A-Asriel will be able to show you how it works.”

You slide the phone carefully into your back pocket. _Thank you._

Alphys waves her hands, looking down. “Oh, it’s—it’s no trouble, don’t worry about it!” She turns to Chara and Prase now. “Come on… let’s go.”

“Be safe,” Asriel says, pulling Chara close to him for a lingering moment.

“We’ll do our best,” Chara replies. They reach out to stroke your hair once. “You take care of yourself too, all right?”

You nod to them, trying your best to put on a brave face. They smile for you, then join Alphys and Prase; the three of them go through that automatic sliding door from before and disappear behind it.

 

 

In the end you stayed in the lab a little bit longer, Asriel sending you upstairs to what he said was Alphys’ living quarters so that you could change out of your tights and into your socks to help stay cool in the oppressive heat. You only glanced around briefly at her bookcases and worktable before wrestling with your clothes and riding the escalator back down to the ground floor. It’s a little mean to snoop, especially when Alphys is busy working on important things.

Asriel offers his hand as you leave; you take it carefully. His hands really are huge; you feel like you could just grip a couple of his fingers like a little kid if you wanted to.

“D’you want to try out your new phone while we go?” he asks as you step together into the sweltering heat. “There are stores and things along the way and all, so I figure you might want to use the box system instead of just stuffing things in your pockets.”

 _Box system?_ you ask. It’s a little lonely to have to let go of his hands to talk, but at least it’s cooler. You bet his fur will get pretty uncomfortable if you wind up really sweaty during this tour. (You wonder if he doesn’t get too hot here, but you guess this at least explains his wearing no sleeves and a very breathable skirt.)

The two of you step onto a series of conveyor belts, and Asriel gets out his own phone, showing you how to turn it on. “See this icon?” he says, pointing to a little box next to what you guess must be the menu start button and the icons for other apps. “If you click it, it’ll open up a thing called the Interdimensional Box. The magic in the phone will scan the items in your inventory, and you can select them to store in little interdimensional spaces for safekeeping so you’ll be able to manage your things more conveniently. You get two Interdimensional Boxes for free—see, yours says box A and box B. You can store as many items as there are slots. Pretty convenient, huh?”

He beams at you, but all you can do is gape. _That’s really possible?_ you ask at length.

“Uh-huh. Well, I mean, it’s magic and all, so I’m sure it’s not what you’re used to,” he says. “D’you wanna test it out and see how it works? Got anything you’re carrying?”

You frown and shake your head. _I had… candy and the cookies that your father gave me, but… yesterday…_

“Ahh.” Understanding flickers in Asriel’s eyes, and he smiles, the bend of his eyebrows troubled. “It all got ruined in the water, gotcha. That stinks. Don’t beat yourself up about it too hard, okay? It was an accident, and you’ll have plenty of chances to get more snacks to stash away in case you get hungry. The box system’s convenient for that too… our food doesn’t go bad like straight-up human food does, so you can just leave it in the box and not worry about it. I’ve got that container of spaghetti from Papyrus—want to try it out with that? This way you’ll be able to hang on to it yourself, instead of having to leave it with me. Doesn’t that feel safer?”

It does, but you wonder why he thinks to phrase it like that. He’s royalty—barring some kind of famine throughout the whole underground, you doubt he’d ever have had to worry about being hungry like you do.

He’s busy digging through his backpack for the spaghetti and not looking at you, so you can’t really ask him. You’re glad to have that excuse.

“Here you go,” he says finally, holding out the little container to you. “Oh, the end of the conveyor belts is coming up, watch your step.” After you’ve both got your feet safely on the ground, he goes back to bending over you and your phone. “Push the app icon with your finger—yeah, like that. Then you pick a box… okay, good, now see how in the column on the left it says that that’s your inventory now, and you’ve got ‘SPAGHETTI’ in there? You push that and either push on one of the empty slots, or hold and drag it—yeah, like that…”

You gasp; the spaghetti that you were holding in your left hand has vanished, leaving you grasping at thin air.

“You do the reverse to get it back,” Asriel says, and waits while you do just that a few times, fascinated by the spaghetti popping into existence and then vanishing over and over again. “Yeah, you’ve got the hang of it now, good. When Alphys first invented this system, Chara kept joking about how this is much better than captchalogues. Whatever those are. They were probably making some nerdy human media joke again… they do that a lot.”

 _Alphys invented this?_ you ask.

“Yeah—it’s what she does in her spare time in between soul research; she uses human technology scavenged from the dump in Waterfall to invent appliances and things,” Asriel replies. “She has more fun with making and building machines than the soul power stuff… she and Mettaton are in a partnership where he advertises her appliances and she builds him props and things for his shows.” Perhaps seeing your curiosity, he smiles and spells out _Mettaton_ for you, giving you a name sign too. “Mettaton’s the robot pop star you’ve been hearing people bring up and, um, complain about. Alphys and I made friends over building his body, ages ago. You’ll probably get to meet him soon, too. He can get kind of over the top, but he’s not a bad person deep down.”

And, that said, he starts to lead you onwards.

“Speaking of the box system, though—I told you that you get two for free, right? If that’s not enough, you can buy more when you’re a grownup. Chara pays for extra space—you can have them show you sometime later. Sometimes they get anxious about throwing things away or having emergency supplies just in case, so the box system really helps.”

You breathe in sharply. That feeling from a couple of days ago, like somebody just opened a door on you while you were naked, is back; you stuff your phone into your pocket and clutch the front of your shirt, looking ahead of you to hide your frown.

“Maybe… I dunno, maybe this is going too far, but… if you think you’d like something like that, you could talk to me or Chara or some other grownup you know and trust, and we can help you get it set up. More box space, I mean.”

You inhale again. Your lungs feel full to the point of bursting. _Why… offer that?_ you ask slowly, chancing a look up at Asriel. Like you were, he’s facing the path ahead, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Well…” Here he hesitates, then shrugs a little. “You remind me a lot of Chara back when we were kids. The things that helped them might not work for you, but… I figure they’re at least worth bringing up, y’know?”

You smile a little and nod. _I guess so._

Asriel smiles back.

The two of you traverse a series of vents that propel you over gaps in the path—Asriel reminds you that there are magical safety nets but offers to carry you anyway, and you happily take him up on it the first time—and past some monster kids with diamond-shaped faces (you can identify them by their striped shirts, and you think of MK and smile).

“This door up ahead is open right now, but when the puzzles are up and running you have to win a couple simple computer games to open ‘em,” Asriel explains, pointing. “Do you want to go see what those are like?”

You nod, and Asriel leads you to the right side of the crossroads.

 _What do you mean when the puzzles are up and running?_ you ask him.

“All of the Hotland puzzles are computer-run,” Asriel tells you. “They’re all stuff that either Alphys or her assistants made on breaks to blow off steam, or that Mettaton set up on a whim and that everyone else just kept. Aside from these door puzzles, we’ve got vent jump mazes and lasers… oh, and the visitor floor of the Core can be rearranged like a giant slide puzzle, so sometimes the workers do that for fun. But since they’re computer-controlled, Alphys turns them off during high traffic hours so that you don’t have ten monster high stacks queued up while everybody takes turns solving ‘em.”

You giggle at that mental image, and Asriel grins widely, showing off his mouthful of pointy teeth.

The shooter game turns out to be playable just for fun, so you give it a try while Asriel checks his phone. It’s pretty easy; you have to slide the blocks so that you’ll be able to shoot the other side without running out of shots on the movable blocks in your way. The console plays a cute jingle at you when you win, and he stows his phone away quickly, flashing you a smile and telling you “good job” before taking your hand again to continue on.

Across another set of jumps, you come to—of all things—a tidy kitchen, complete with a window painstakingly painted to look like a blue sky. All the appliances seem to work, as best you can tell; you turn back to Asriel and raise an eyebrow.

“This is the set for Mettaton’s cooking show,” he tells you. “He does a variety show, basically? Mettaton by himself is at least 75% of our entire entertainment industry. At least he’s having fun, I guess, and people seem to enjoy it.”

You offer a very dubious thumbs up; Asriel snorts.

“That’s about my feelings on the matter too, Frisk,” he says. “C’mon.”

You leave the kitchen together and continue down the path as it goes back to being rock and dirt under your boots. Distant mechanical noises catch your attention, and you squint into the dark horizon; there’s some kind of huge building there, wavering slightly in the heat haze rising off the lava.

“That’s the Core,” says Asriel. “Gaster made it back before he retired as Royal Scientist—it was his main project, the same way soul research is Alphys’ now. Prase worked on it too. That was back when my parents still ruled the underground. We’re going to be getting there eventually. C’mon.”

You hurry after him as he goes. There’s an elevator at the end of the path, and Asriel holds the door for you to get in; luckily it’s not so small that it’s cramped with both of you inside.

“Ready?” Asriel asks you, and he pushes the button labeled R2.

 

 

Almost immediately out of the elevator, you come upon a stand where a pair of monsters—one that looks like a small volcano, and another that looks like a candle made out of ropes—are selling hot dogs.

“Want one?” Asriel asks, pointing. When you hesitate, he says, “There’s no pork in them or anything, if you’re worried about kosher. Actually all of the meat down here is vegetarian substitutes—no animals down here that the omnivores could use as livestock or hunt, after all. The fish is real, though.”

You _really_ ought to say no, but while you’re fidgeting Asriel gets out his wallet, saying “Well, _I’m_ going to get one, because they’re a great snack to eat while you walk! So juicy, so tasty, just the thing when you’re in Hotland (unless the Nice Cream guy’s around, of course).” And your stomach gurgles hopefully. He plays dirty. From the look on his face when you ask him for one after all, he knows it.

(“One for now and one to save for later,” he says, handing you two hot dogs instead of one, and you decide you can forgive him. This time anyway.)

The hot dog you eat as you and Asriel continue down the path is warm and toasted, savory and spicy with its heaping of ketchup and bean salsa, but it tastes subtly different from an actual hot dog, and it’s sort of… denser, too, even as you bite through it easily enough. _What’s in this sausage?_ you ask Asriel.

“I think it’s mostly water sausage and tofu,” he answers, tilting his head to the side. “Plus spices, beans, and a little of this and that. If we make it all the way up to the MTT hotel before Chara and them call us back, we can go ask Astis, their head chef. He’d know.”

You nod, considering, and lick each of your fingers off quietly before wiping them dry on your shorts. _It’s good even if it’s not real meat,_ you tell him.

Asriel grins again. “I’m glad you think so.”

On your way, you’re nearly bowled over by a chubby monster with floppy ears and a big tail who comes barreling down the path with an armful of papers. “Oh!” they yelp while Asriel’s steadying you. “Please excuse me! I’m very sorry! I was so busy worrying about where to put these flyers that I didn’t see you! How rude of me!”

 _It’s okay,_ you sign back, breathless. The monster tilts their head at you.

“They say it’s okay,” Asriel translates. After several days of nearly everybody understanding you perfectly, it feels weird and almost shocking for someone to not be able to communicate with you. “And I’d recommend the third level or maybe the hotel if you want to post those someplace.”

“Thank you! I’m so sorry!!!” says the monster. They straighten the party hat they’re wearing for some inexplicable reason, wave, and hurry past. Their tail, which is curiously 2D-looking, nearly knocks you over a second time.

Asriel frowns after them for a while. You tug on his sleeve. _It wasn’t their fault._

“No, it’s not that,” he says, shaking his head so that his ears flop. “I’m pretty sure that those were Art Club flyers, but I don’t think I’ve met that monster before. Odd.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’m just forgetting. C’mon, Frisk.”

Asriel leads you past another vent puzzle—this one, he says, is so annoying that he’s just going to avoid it altogether—and then past a wall with a mousehole in it. You look around, mystified, for wherever the cheese (or other food) platter is—there’s something that looks like a microwave oven on a table nearby, but which when you squint reveals itself as a safe.

The mouse squeaks as you and Asriel pass. Silently, you wish it luck.

The two of you turn a bend around a series of small smokestacks puffing clean white steam, and past a large area where workers seem to be setting up something like a stage. Four monsters in armor like Undyne’s—a rabbit, a dragon, a mantis, and a cat—seem to be there to shoo passersby on, though they all wave to Asriel and he waves back to them.

“This is where Mettaton films all his news broadcasts,” he tells you. “I think he’s got something going on at the hotel diner tonight, so the news will be late, but there’s his crew for you. They’re pretty loyal. Most of them, anyway.”

Yet another bend in the road brings you past the Core again on your way to the elevator; Asriel selects the floor above once again.

Instead of dirt, this time you embark onto neat purple platforms, probably made of some kind of metal. Dark red cogs whirl in the air, and faint white cords—threads?—crisscross the darkness.

Not far down the path, a table and a few spiderwebs are set up around bright posters and flyers, all advertising the Spider Bake Sale. All the proceeds apparently go to real spiders. At the center table sits a monster with short pigtails and six arms; when Asriel approaches, they hide their mouth with one elegant hand and giggle.

“Here to donate to our cause, Your Majesty~? And you too, dearie? Our spider chauffeur service doesn’t exactly fund itself, you know~”

“Hello, Muffet,” says Asriel. He produces a handful of gold coins and drops them into Muffet’s tin. Possibly noting at all five of their eyes are staring at you very beadily, he pats your head. “Go easy on Frisk. They’re new here—they haven’t got any money yet.”

“Ahuhuhu, and here I thought they were just being stingy! You never know with humans, so many of them hate spiders~” Muffet giggles again. It’s not a very pleasant laugh. “And will you be purchasing any sweets today? Spider Cider and Spider Donuts, at a very special price just for you!”

“Sure, I’ll pick up a Spider Donut for Chara,” Asriel says, handing over more money. Muffet produces a bag with one of their other arms and passes it to him as they accept their payment.

“Here you are, dearie! Don’t be a stranger, now!” And they wave you away, laughing brightly.

Asriel transfers the donut to his box inventory instead of stashing it in his backpack and guides you away with a hand on your back. Once you’re a decent distance away, he says in a low voice, “Muffet gets a little tetchy if you don’t pay up. Keeping the bake sale and the transportation for spiders going takes most of her money… she likes to gouge us because she knows we’ve got plenty of gold.”

 _Spider transportation?_ you ask.

“Between Home and Waterfall,” Asriel says, nodding. “They can’t take the cold. Chara thinks Spider Donuts are funny, and it’d be a little sad if the spiders got stranded, so we try to donut—I mean, donate, to keep them happy. Even if I _do_ think Spider Cider is gross.”

You giggle a little at his unintentional pun and let him lead you on.

 

 

Past another set of jump puzzles and shooter games and through a corridor where you think Muffet probably lives when she’s not selling pastries, you and Asriel come upon a brick wall plastered with various colorful posters advertising plays. You slow down to give them a look; none of them are for anything that you’ve heard of. Many prominently showcase a gigantic rectangular monster as the lead—you wonder if it’s mean of you to think of them as a calculator—but others, newer ones, have a familiar-looking humanoid robot in the middle. Some feature various other monsters, too.

(Down at the very corner of the wall is a freshly-taped, slightly crumpled paper advertising art club. The monster in the hat must have put it there recently, you think.)

“That’s Mettaton,” Asriel says, pointing at the humanoid robot. “He should be around here or the hotel somewhere, and we can get food at the hotel too.”

Your stomach growls before you can try to protest, and Asriel grins at you.

“C’mon, Frisk. We’ve been doing an awful lot of walking. You’ve got to keep your energy up! Plus Astis is going to want to feed you—he does that with everyone. If you eat his cooking you’re going to be making him really, really happy.”

Your insides gurgle conspicuously, and Asriel’s grin broadens. You smile apologetically in response.

The walkway opens up onto a stage, complete with intricately painted sky backdrop and a mock castle with stairs leading up to a balcony. Various monsters are lounging on these stairs with papers in their hands, reading from them; you think you’ve probably stumbled into some sort of rehearsal. You glance over—there are auditorium seats opposite the stage, most of them empty.

“Hello, Your Majesty,” says someone; you turn to see that one of the monsters, a lion in a sparkly light blue dress, has gotten up to approach you. “What brings you here today?” They notice you with a start, and smile. “Showing our new friend around?”

“Mostly,” Asriel replies. “I’d love to stick around and watch some of your rehearsal, but Frisk needs feeding, and I’m starting to get a little worried that I haven’t seen Mettaton around at all today. Is he at the hotel?”

The lion flaps a paw, shaking their head bashfully. “Oh, you don’t want to see our rehearsal yet! Everything is still such a _mess._ Mettaton is at the hotel, yes; there’s a new performer starting at comedy night.”

“Ahh!” Asriel holds up a claw. “That’s right, Sans had a gig but canceled because of work, didn’t he? So that Snowdrake—what’s his name, the comedian’s son—got called in to fill his slot. I remember now.”

“Yes, Snowy, he’s brought both his parents to watch, so Mettaton’s making a big fuss over them. You know how he is.” The lion sounds fond. “Well, I shouldn’t hold you up. I hope you’ll come see the play when it’s ready!”

“Definitely,” says Asriel. “C’mon, Frisk, we’re almost there.”

He leads you offstage and onto the familiar stone-and-earth of Hotland’s bare ground, then up a flight of stairs to a tall building with a ritzy front and glass doors with M-shaped handles. You wipe your boots on the carpet leading up to it as Asriel opens one for you.

“Well, here we are,” he says, gesturing. “Welcome to the MTT hotel. Let’s get you some lunch and somewhere to sit.”

 

 

The hotel lobby is fancy-looking and clean, with an elevator up to the city, a desk for reservations, and a fast food outlet all contained within; there’s a hall leading to rooms on the right side and a diner on the left. You try not to think about how sweaty and scruffy you probably are. Asriel shepherds you over to the fast food outlet, waits in line, and tells the cashier that he wants two Starfaits.

“Coming right up, Your Majesty,” says the cashier. You thought that their smile looked sort of vapid at first, but now you get the feeling that they’re despondent.

“You seem kind of down,” Asriel observes aloud. “Is everything doing alright, Burgerpants?”

The cashier heaves an enormous sigh that to you kind of sounds like they’re saying _Why is my nosy annoying king trying to talk to me while I’m on the job and why is he using that stupid nickname I am just a wage slave trying to make a living_ really fast under their breath. The smile returns at cartoonish proportions. “I am just fine sir your drinks will be ready in just a moment is there anything else off the menu you would like our Legendary Hero subs are prepared with fresh produce harvested within the week as you well know.”

That emotionless tone is beginning to creep you out; you’re taking a step closer to Asriel as surreptitiously as you can manage when the lobby speakers squeak and the gentle elevator muzak-style easy listening that’s been playing in the background is replaced by a heavy dubstep beat and a cheerful robotic voice rapping.

The rap seems to be about Burgerpants. It appears to be a serenade to how bad they are at their job.

“Oh, no,” grumbles Burgerpants.

“Ohhhhhh _YES,”_ trills the very voice that’s also playing over the lobby speakers, and a very tall robot pirouettes up to Burgerpants’ side behind the counter and wraps a noodly, boneless arm around and around their shoulders. Burgerpants’ smile is now absolutely murderous.

Mettaton—because this has to be him, who else could it be—is a handsome robot with a dramatically angled humanoid body in black, pink, and silver. He is smiling sweetly at Burgerpants with a look in his eyes that seems to promise lectures and pay cuts.

“Well well well,” chirps Mettaton. (Is that _autotune?_ ) “Welly welly well. _Dear_ Burgerpants. I am _sure_ that you aren’t complaining to your very own customers instead of keeping a professional demeanor and doing your job, because we have had this discussion many times before. If you are simply tired of standing, you _know_ where the stools are. Get your customers’ order and kindly find one.”

“Yes, _sir,”_ Burgerpants grits out. There’s a ding from further into the building, and Mettaton retracts his arm to allow them to retrieve two tall plastic cups, stick straws in them, and deposit them on the counter. Asriel picks them up with a polite “thank you”, and Burgerpants makes a half-hearted attempt to glue their smile back on. “Have a fanTABulous day, O Customers.”

Mettaton pats his employee’s shoulder, sits on the counter, and swings one leg after the other over. “Your Majesty! And this absolute darling must be Frisk! How _wonderful_ to see you! Here, let me show you to a table!”

He leads you away from the now decidedly grumpy Burgerpants and into the fancy diner, one gloved hand on Asriel’s shoulder and the other on yours; he gets you both sat down at a table that you realize belatedly is the same shape as the rectangular monster from the theater posters.

“Now, I would just _love_ to catch up and chat, but I must go find Shyren and Blooky so that we can prepare for our opening set,” Mettaton says, giving you each a pat. “Alas, the trials of stardom! But that’s show business, baby!” He winks at you. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find some time to get to know each other very soon, though. I’ll send you out someone who I’m sure will be glad to see you both in the meantime!” And he sashays off, looking pleased with himself.

Asriel gives you your Starfait; you take a cursory sip. It’s very sweet, like someone made a smoothie of candy and sprinkles, with layers of banana and pineapple jelly and thick whipped cream. Even though you know you ought to savor it, you’re unable to stop drinking until your forehead starts to hurt.

“Are you alright?” Asriel is laughing a little at you and your brain freeze; he just laughs harder when you take your mouth off your straw only long enough to stick your tongue out at him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, at least. This is a little bit late for lunch, and all.”

 _It’s okay,_ you tell him, smiling. Really, that he’s feeding you and worrying about this stuff at all is more than you could have asked of any other adult except maybe Chara.

“So now you’ve seen most of the underground,” Asriel says, leaning back in his chair. (It creaks. He’s the biggest monster in the room by far, you know just from one cursory glance around. Maybe the diner receptionist Mettaton marched you past was just a little bit bigger.) “Home, Snowdin, Waterfall, Hotland… is there any place you think you might want to live?”

You hum around your straw. Snowdin is bright and cold, Waterfall is stressful, and Hotland is hot and full of scary jumps… but all of them have plenty of nice people living there, and you’ve had good experiences everywhere.

“You don’t have to decide anytime soon, of course,” Asriel goes on hurriedly. “You just might want to start thinking about it. Chara and I were thinking of putting you up in the castle in New Home, where we live, until you know for sure what you want to do.”

_Would that really be okay?_

“We’ve got plenty of room, and we like you,” he says, nodding. “Chara especially. I’ve never seen them so gone on a kid before, monster or human.”

You duck your head, pleased, and play with your straw for a bit; when you look back up, Asriel is checking his phone.

Too shy to tap on the table to get his attention or to wave your hand when there are so many monsters around, you wait for him to put it back away and sigh. _Are you worried about Chara?_

Asriel makes a bit of a face. “Yeah, a little bit. I know it’s just me being a worrywart and I could stand to back off and let them breathe more, and I’m trying my best to do that. But we grew up together, you know, and—as my co-ruler and as my spouse, I’m used to spending a lot of time with them. It’s weird to be apart from them for a whole day without even getting to text back and forth.

“But I don’t want to interrupt and cause problems with the experiment, not when we’ve all worked so hard for this. So I guess my job as Chara’s partner and Alphys’ friend now, is… to wait patiently and believe in them.”

 _What’s the experiment about?_ you ask.

“You heard from Chara and MK about our history and the Barrier, and Undyne told you that we’re looking for a way to use human soul power without anyone dying, right?” he says, resting his arms on the table and leaning forward. You nod. “Alphys is working on a way to sort of reroute the power of a human soul to a monster while both hosts are still alive, but to do that, first we need a way to separate a human soul from its body enough for a monster to utilize its power—while keeping the human and the soul both healthy. According to Mom and Dad, just like Boss Monster souls, a human’s soul will shatter very quickly after body and soul are permanently separated, so if we don’t have a good support machine, people’s lives could be in danger.

“Alphys has got a prototype for that machine ready, so that’s what she and Prase are testing. Without getting into all the boring technical stuff, Chara’s got a way to fix everything in the case of an emergency, and that’s why they’re on standby, but it won’t help us when it comes time to break the Barrier. It’s important to test and refine things, but… it’s a really high-risk experiment.”

You swallow. _That… sounds scary._

“It is, but… we’ve got to get out of here somehow, and this is the best way we’ve been able to come up with,” Asriel says. “No sacrifice. Nobody should have to die. We should _all_ be able to go free.”

 _I hope it does work out like that,_ you tell him.

“Me too,” he says, and grins. You don’t remark on the way his eyebrows have made a little mountain on his forehead with worry.

A little cheer rises up from the monsters in the restaurant, and you look over to the stage to see Mettaton there, already posing dramatically; Shyren, the fish monster you saw in Waterfall, is floating behind a microphone, and Napstablook the ghost is hovering at a DJ table. The music starts to play, Shyren starts to sing in a voice so pretty you’re left breathless, and Mettaton starts to twirl around, doing a very leggy dance in a style you’re not familiar with.

You reach the end of your Starfait while you watch, and play with your straw sadly. Asriel appears to notice this, and slides his half-full one across the table to you, taking his straw out.

He waves his hand at you before you have the time to do anything but point at yourself, poleaxed that he would do something so generous. “Drink it. You’re enjoying it, and you’re probably a lot hungrier than I am.”

There’s so much of him compared to you that you can’t help but doubt that, but Asriel nods to you encouragingly, so you stick your own straw into the drink and sip. It seems only polite.

“I can’t wait to try you out on my own cooking,” he says, smiling. “We’ve had other people treat us for so long that I haven’t gotten a chance to make anything. I’m good, though, so don’t worry—my parents taught me. And Chara doesn’t cook but they make a mean cup of tea. I hope we know things that you’ll like.”

 _I haven’t had a single meal here that I don’t like,_ you tell him. _I’m sure that I’ll enjoy your cooking just fine, if you make me anything._

“Well, gosh.” Asriel looks over his shoulder briefly. “Speaking of food, here comes somebody.”

A human in an apron is approaching your table, pushing a serving cart; they smile winningly and set two heaping dishes of seafood, rice, and vegetables in front of you, plus glasses of water.

“Hi, Astis. I don’t remember ordering any paella,” Asriel tells the human, who winks.

“It’s on the house,” Astis says. “Mettaton is very happy that you brought Frisk here so that he can brag and increase clientele. I’m almost done with work for the day, anyway, and that means the regular crowd is going to show up—I figured we could hang out with you two until Holly’s classes let out and we all head down to Alphys’ for anime night.”

“Well, I’m sure not gonna say no to free food,” Asriel replies, laughing. “I’m guessing Frisk won’t either. Frisk, this is Astis. He’s the… sixth? Yeah, the sixth fallen human. He works as one of the head chefs at this hotel.”

“I’m the one who makes sure that Mettaton only puts edible sequins and glitter in the food _sometimes,”_ Astis jokes. He holds out a hand for you to shake, and you take it. “It’s nice to meet you, Frisk.”

Hand occupied, you smile and nod while you look him over. Astis seems to be about Chara’s height, maybe a little taller, with light brown skin and long curly hair restrained by a few pins. He’s heavyset with a very soft build, sloe-black eyes, a beaky nose, a few stray whiskers on his chin, and a beauty mark under one eye. His smile is very easy, and he exudes an air of gentle unconcern that makes you feel slightly more relaxed just looking at him.

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” he says, releasing your hand and wheeling the cart away.

Asriel, meanwhile, has picked up his utensils and is frowning at his plate. “Mussels again? What is _with_ everyone lately… Chara is right, they really are trying to kill us.” He looks up to see you staring, and abruptly turns to the side and coughs. “Don’t, uh, don’t worry about it.”

You don’t really understand what connection there is between mussels and adult things, but you just shrug and direct your attention to your own plate, trying to find a good point of attack to start eating this extravagant lunch. It’s rich and chewy and delicious, spiced with things you’ve never tasted before.

Onstage, Shyren and Napstablook’s song ends and Mettaton stops dancing; even though you weren’t really paying attention, you applaud with all the monsters in the audience. The stage lights go down and monsters appear to start moving the band equipment; a monster that looks like they’re equal parts chicken, dragon, and snowflake stands up from their seat and starts taking deep breaths. Another monster, the same species but bigger and older-looking, talks to them; there’s a third monster with those two, who is—you nearly choke on your mouthful of rice when you realize—another amalgamate, runny Vegetoids where their eyes and beak ought to be.

“That’s Snowy and his parents,” Asriel says; you jump in your seat, self-conscious of being caught staring. “His dad’s a regular here. It’s a shame Chara can’t be here to watch—they have similar taste in humor.”

 _Oh right, you and that lion were talking about a S-N-O-W-Y and comedy night,_ you say. _What do you mean by similar taste in humor?_

“Same as Sans, really—awful puns.” Snowy the Snowdrake passes by your peripheral, and you and Asriel both watch him go.

A few minutes later, Astis returns, pulling up a chair to your table and sitting down with a satisfied sigh. You’re still only halfway through your paella, and are taking a break to finish Asriel’s Starfait; hastily you take a sip of water and return to the main dish.

“You don’t have to rush yourself, it’s all right, I know there’s a lot,” he says, holding up one big hand. “Plus there’ll be pizza and things tonight, so don’t stuff yourself too badly.”

 _It’s very good,_ you tell him. _I’ve never had this before. What kind of spices are in it?_

“Mostly saffron, paprika, and olive oil,” Astis replies, lighting up. “I was really surprised that there’s saffron in the New Home greenhouses—I’d only ever used it a few times back when I lived on the surface since it’s so expensive there.”

“It’s apparently a lot easier to grow plants with magic,” Asriel puts in. “Although being underground still does make it tough in terms of sunlight.”

 _Do people just use sun lamps and things?_ you ask, fascinated. _I hear that it’s easier to get depressed and stuff when you don’t get to see the sun…_

“We do, but it’s really not enough,” Asriel replies. “And before we got hold of sun lamps to figure out how they’re made, it was apparently really really bad. Like, I was too little to remember, but Mom and Dad apparently have some horror stories.”

What MK said about monsters falling down echoes in the back of your mind, and you shudder a little.

“Is there a reason people keep feeding us mussels, anyway?” Asriel asks, pointing at his food. “Like this is delicious and I have no other complaints about it, but…”

Astis gives Asriel a smarmy look to rival Alphys’ best. “Well, just think of it as all of us cheering you and Chara on in our own way.”

Asriel groans. _“Astis.”_

Astis looks innocent. “If you’d rather we spare you for a bit while you’re showing Frisk around, we can do that too.” To you, he says, “Someone’ll probably explain in a year or so. You’re getting to about that age.”

Mystified, you shrug and return your attentions to the paella.

You’re still not quite done with your plate when a group of monsters approaches the table, all dragging chairs with them—a tall gangly alligator in a poncho with blond hair and thick pink lipstick, a short chubby cat with purple fur and a pierced ear, and Burgerpants, of all people.

“Hey guys,” Astis says, hailing them with a wave. Asriel scoots his chair and plate over so that he’s sharing a side of the table with you, leaving the three monsters room to sit down. “BP, you didn’t bring your boyfriend today?”

Burgerpants’ nose turns bright red, and they scowl tremendously. “He’s off _working_ in Waterfall or something, I don’t know, _don’t ask me._ Maybe I’ll just go for a smoke instead if you’re gonna give me the third degree.”

Laughing, the cat monster grabs Burgerpants’ shoulder and restrains them. “Omg, Burgerpants, nooooo! You’re gonna miss Snowy’s big debut!” They wave cheerfully at you. “So like, I’m Catty and this is my best friend Bratty! And, like, this is Burgerpants, but I guess you already know him?”

Bratty the alligator sticks their tongue out, rolling their eyes. “Girl, he’s _infamous._ Who else working for Mettaton has, like, an entire CD dedicated to how much they suck at their job.”

Burgerpants flushes even darker. “For your information, I never wanted to work at the stupid Burger Emporium _anyway._ I _wanted_ to be an ACTOR.”

“You’ll get your chance,” Astis soothes. “C’mon, everyone, quiet down. Snowy’s going to be on any minute.”

A cheerful, slightly muffled PING! sounds, and Asriel sits straight up, eyes round. He fishes his phone out and flicks through it, frowning.

“What’s up, big guy? Someone message you?” Burgerpants asks, slouching against the table.

“Like, you should probably totally turn that off for the show?” Catty suggests.

“Or set it on vibrate,” Bratty chimes in.

“I’ve gotta go,” Asriel says, standing up, a distracted expression on his face. “Chara just texted me—they need me back in the lab.” He takes a few steps away from the table, then stops and walks back, bending over to look at you seriously. “Stay with Astis and these guys—they can look after you. If I’m not back in an hour, text me or call me—my number should be in your phone’s address book, and if you aren’t sure how to use it, ask someone. I’ll come get you unless there’s some pressing reason I can’t, and I’ll at least tell you what’s going on if that happens. I’m really sorry about this.” He squeezes your shoulder gently just once, and then he’s trotting off towards the lobby.

Your stomach squinches up for reasons you can’t quite put words to, and your appetite starts to evaporate.

“Like, you don’t have to worry,” Bratty says. “He’ll be back. The king’s a good guy.”

You nod, but even as the lights darken and Snowy appears onstage, you just push your paella around on your plate instead of going back to eating.

 

 

Long minutes pass. You eat more mouthfuls of rice and seafood when you remember, but you’re having trouble even concentrating on Snowy’s act, despite that his puns are very cute and that his father continually exclaims over him from the audience (“That’s my boy!”).

It doesn’t make sense. The hotel has air conditioning, of course, but when you came in you felt just fine, and it’s hot in this area. You show none of the other symptoms of being sick. So these chills and shivers—you don’t know where they’re coming from.

“You alright?” Astis murmurs, and you let out a tiny yelp and nearly knock your chair over; he steadies its arm with a hand to keep you from tipping. “Frisk, you’re shaking.”

You do your best to smile for him, and sign _I’m okay._

“If you say so,” he replies, but he looks dubious. You bend your focus to finish your paella, trying to make sure that no one else worries about you for no real reason.

Snowy’s act ends after a while. The lights go up; he disappears backstage only to reappear again in the diner with Mettaton waving him off to his family. The band equipment is being returned to the stage, and you see Napstablook hovering at the edges instead of actually directing setup, but your attention is taken up by Snowy hugging his mother and being patted proudly on the back by his father.

You seem to be watching this from very far away.

“I could’ve done much better than that,” Burgerpants is complaining. “Tch! Puns! Might as well get that lazy skeleton back here instead.”

“Like, will you shush?” Bratty chides him. “Let the kid have his moment, like, for real. You don’t have to shit on somebody younger than you just because he got his lucky break earlier.”

Burgerpants continues to grumble, but under his breath now.

“Anyway, like, who wants dessert? Because I totally want dessert,” Catty interrupts, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. Her paw pads are little and black; you press your hands into your shorts, but the grooves of the denim are a poor substitute for the velvety feel of Asriel’s palms. (The thought gives you a jolt; you try to bury it. The memory of petrichor floods your nose—seems like it’s raining somewhere else.)

“Let’s get something warm if we get anything at all,” Astis says. He’s still watching you.

“Totally,” Bratty agrees. “Like, cold food sucks anyway.”

“Fine with me, I guess,” says Burgerpants, shrugging.

“Do crepes sound good to you, Frisk?” You’re being presented with a menu. It takes all your strength not to startle; you blink down at it, but the letters seem to float and dance against the lenses of your eyes, and you can’t make sense of them.

 _I want strawberry,_ you say. Strawberry is a flavor that crepes come in, isn’t it? It’s a safe flavor. Strawberry milk in school lunches, a quiet afternoon in a counselor’s office, the only noise her fingernails on her desktop keyboard. No TV blaring in the background, no grunting and moaning from actors on the screen or your parents behind a locked door, no mess, no bugs, no painful fluorescent lights making you squint. None of the nervousness of waiting for your mother to come pick you up, unsure that she’ll even arrive at all.

That memory strikes something sharp and bright and unpleasant in you, and you pinch your thigh under the table where no one can see it.

“Strawberry, okay,” says Astis, and you sigh a little in relief. Imagine how embarrassing it would have been if you’d named something that wasn’t on the menu at all.

Shyren and Napstablook start playing again; Mettaton is back onstage dancing. You know that you’re watching this, but it’s distantly frightening how little of it you’re retaining. A waiter, or maybe waitress—a waitmonster comes and brings everyone’s crepes. You’re staring at your fork, wondering idly what would happen if you picked it up and stabbed it through the back of your left hand, pinned it to the table like a dead butterfly in a collector’s exhibit.

You fork off a corner of your crepe instead and put it in your mouth. It’s warm and syrupy, everything you ought to be registering as delicious, but instead it just feels rubbery and tasteless on your tongue.

You chew it anyway and swallow.

Catty is shaking a spice dispenser’s contents onto her crepe. Sequins come out, all different colors and sizes.

You close your eyes tightly. Maybe you’re seeing things.

“Frisk?”

You open your eyes again. Astis and the three monsters are all looking at you.

“You’re still shaking—are you okay?” someone says. You’re not sure who. You can’t parse the exact sound of the voice.

 _I’m fine,_ you sign. Your palms are wrinkled from clutching your pants.

“It’s been forty-five minutes,” Astis says. “Do you want to text Asriel now?”

_He said an hour._

“That’s close enough, and he hasn’t called you at all,” he presses. “He gets a little singleminded sometimes when it comes to Chara, so I’m sure he’d be happy for the reminder.”

You shake your head, then again, more emphatically. _Don’t want to bother him._

“You wouldn’t be bothering him at all,” Astis says. His voice is gentle but resolute; you doubt he’s going to be budged on this. You curl your legs up to your chest, rocking.

“They’re freaking out, man,” Burgerpants interrupts. “Get the kid into the lobby. There’s less flashing light and noise there, might help ‘em calm down.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” says—Bratty or Catty, you’re not sure which.

A hand with claws and fur squeezes your shoulder tight. “Stay with us, little buddy.”

“I’m going to help you up,” Astis says, close to you. “You can keep your eyes closed if that will help—just keep walking until we get into the lobby and can sit you down someplace quieter.”

Hands—human ones, shockingly warm against your body even through your shirt, lift you; you let your legs dangle until your feet are touching the ground, and with those hands still on your shoulder and upper arm, you’re led half-stumbling away.

It is quieter in the lobby, but brighter also. You squint your eyes open and push your glasses up on your nose; they’re already adjusting. Astis, Bratty, Catty, and Burgerpants are all sitting or kneeling around you as you sit propped against the wall.

“If you don’t call Asriel, I will,” Astis says firmly.

You curl up and hide your face in your knees. “Don’t bother,” you mumble aloud. “Won’t matter.”

“I promise you that it will make a difference,” Astis goes on. “If there’s some reason why he hasn’t come back yet we can learn, and if he can come back, he needs to. I saw the way he looked at and treated you, Frisk. That’s not how someone who doesn’t care about a child looks at one. I know that from experience. You don’t have to trust me on this—I can prove it to you.”

“Don’t,” is all you can choke out.

He lets you go, and there’s rustling like he’s pulling a phone out, so you sit up and grab his arm to stop him from dialing.

“Frisk, let go,” Astis says calmly. You shake your head.

“Oh, looks like you don’t have to worry about calling,” says Bratty. She’s staring towards the doors.

“What d’you mean he doesn’t have to worry? The kid’s a mess,” Burgerpants protests.

Bratty lifts one claw. “Because, like, that’s totally Asriel coming up the walk right now.”

Everyone turns to look in the same direction as her, you a beat behind the others; just as she said, Asriel is prying open the doors to the resort. He seems out of breath.

In that instant, it’s like your soul has left your body again, except that it’s floating into space instead of hovering politely in front of your chest this time. You grip your calf, digging your nails in; it hurts, but only distantly.

Asriel’s eyes sweep the room, then catch on the five of you. He crosses the lobby at not quite a run; Catty nearly scoots straight up into Bratty’s lap to give him room to kneel down in front of you.

“Frisk,” he says.

Your throat has locked up completely, your hands are still tight on your legs, short nails burrowed as deep as they’ll go. Even if you could reply, you have no idea what you would say. Demand that he prove that he’s real?

Asriel closes his eyes briefly and shakes his regal head. “I should have brought you with me. I should have _thought_ for a second instead of just charging off.” He opens his eyes again and holds his arms out to you. “Chara’s fine. Prase and Alphys and Sans and everyone are okay. I’m back. If—if I say I’m coming back, it’s okay to believe me. It’s okay to—to call me back sooner. I’ll listen, and if I can’t I can at least explain why.” He looks down, then back up to meet your gaze. “I’m not going to abandon you.”

A shudder runs all through you, so violent your hands lose their grip on your legs. Your throat trembles. Your breath shudders. Even your vision is wavering.

That harsh, heavy breathing is yours. So is the quiet whimpering that punctuates it. You still can’t get up, afraid that if you launch yourself into Asriel’s open arms you’ll pass right through him, faceplant into Catty, who was sitting where he kneels now.

“I’m sorry,” Asriel says. “I messed up. This was irresponsible of me.”

Your right hand lifts up without your say-so, the scar on your wrist shiny in the lobby’s overhead lights. Your fingers are shaking.

Asriel scoops you up in both arms and rises to his feet, keeping you crushed to his chest the whole time. He’s warm, solid, his fur scratching at your bare legs; the chain of the locket he always wears is pressed against your cheek very uncomfortably. You cling to him all the same, trying to breathe even and slow instead of shallow and rough. He nuzzles your shoulder and rocks you like you’re a baby, and something deep deep inside you opens up like a lotus flower in answer.

“Chara’s going to kick my butt for leaving you here,” he’s saying, low and soothing. “And if they do, I don’t think it’ll be entirely undeserved. Poor Frisk. I’m right here. I’m really sorry.”

You shake your head. “You came back,” you manage to get out against his chest, so small that you’re not sure he’ll even be able to hear you. “So it’s okay.”

Asriel goes very still for a moment. “It is not okay,” he says, serious now. “That doesn’t just—make everything okay. You don’t have to settle for that, not anymore. I shouldn’t have scared you like this. I’ll do my best to never do it again, and if it _does_ happen again, you can get mad at me for it. Okay? You’re allowed to get mad when people hurt you.”

It’s like he’s speaking some weird foreign language. You don’t understand. Of course you’re not allowed to get mad. How could you? You know how much you’re asking of people already, to be coddled like this, to be considered at all. That’s enough. It _has_ to be enough.

“I forgive you,” is what you say to him out loud, as you put your arms as far around him as you can manage and hold on tight. “So it’s okay.”

“Okay,” Asriel says. His tone’s so even, you can’t pick out whether it really is okay or whether he’s just saying that to make you happy. “Okay, Frisk.”

 

 

You don’t go back to the diner after that; all of you just stay in the lobby. Asriel sits down with you still in his arms, and you’re more than happy with that, so you don’t struggle to get loose. Astis talks to Catty about local gossip, Bratty joining in occasionally while playing a game on her phone. Burgerpants’ break ends, and he goes back to the Burger Emporium.

“You’re so cuddly,” Asriel says idly, kneading your back and shoulder with an oversized hand. “Chara might bite me or something if I tried to carry them for this long.”

You push your face back into his chest in answer, letting your eyes droop closed.

It seems like only a few seconds later when he bumps the crown of your head with his nose. “She’s here,” he says by way of explanation as you blink up at him.

Like the others, you face in the direction of the elevator, where three kids in school uniforms like something out of an anime are disembarking. One is a purple monster in a baseball cap and with a skateboard under their arm; one is a humanoid being made of green fire with incongruous little black button eyes. The third is conspicuously human, with long blond hair held back out of their face with two loose braids.

“Holly, over here,” Astis calls, holding up an arm and waving it. All three students trot up to your group.

Bratty and Catty both get to their feet, showering the human in greetings and hugs; Holly, whose expression seemed severe to you, squirms and laughs at them.

“Do you two want to come to anime night with us?” they ask their other friends once they’ve shaken Bratty and Catty off. “There always seems to be room for more.”

The monster with the skateboard shrugs. “I’ve got quality slacking to take care of. Besides, I just had pizza yesterday.”

“Maybe next time,” says the fire monster. “I think Dad said he wanted to clean the bar today, so I should help him with that.”

Holly nods. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, then.”

The two students head for the front door, and Holly gets down on their knees in front of you and Asriel.

“You must be Frisk, then,” they say to you. “I’m Holly. I would welcome you to the underground, but it appears that you’ve already caught a ride on the welcome wagon. We should hurry to the lab so that I can welcome you to anime night instead.”

 _That sounds fine by me,_ you answer; everyone else smiles, and the last of the tension drains from the air around you all.

 

 

You take the elevators directly down to the lab—it’s a bit of a squeeze with six of you, but with Asriel still carrying you, you manage to pack in all right. There’s a brief minute or two of sweltering heat as you make your way from the elevator down the stairs and into the lab’s air conditioning; then you’re wrapped up in the sounds of friendly voices all talking over each other.

Alphys is directing Undyne, Papyrus, Liron, Innig, Rufus, and Prase in the placement of various couches against the wall; Sans is lounging at her desk being unhelpful, and Chara peels off from the crowd towards you as the doors close behind your group.

“Alphyyyyys!” Bratty and Catty shout at the same time, rushing to hug her; Holly trails after them, apparently going to say hello. Astis joins the couch movers, hovering at Liron’s elbow and watching hir as much as paying attention to his job, flushed red in the face.

Asriel sets you down just as Chara opens their arms; you wrap yours tightly around their waist as they cradle your head and shoulders.

“You, too,” they say imperiously over your head.

“I, well, okay then,” Asriel replies, and his big arms come around the both of you, holding you and Chara to his chest. You shiver once, then sigh and relax.

“So like, who’s on pizza duty tonight?” Catty calls intently from further into the room, and Chara twists to face her; Asriel releases both of you so that they can get an arm up.

“I am. Let me and Frisk order, and I’ll pass my phone around. Let’s try to keep it to ten toppings or less per person tonight—this is a _lot_ of pizzas and it will make things easier for the pizza place and the delivery monster if we keep this as uncomplicated as possible.”

“Yeah, okay, _mom,”_ Rufus says from the middle of the crowd.

Chara points at him. “Gender-neutral terms when you talk back or Shut,” they say, sounding more amused than annoyed.

The couch positions are proclaimed okay by Alphys, and there’s a great sitting down; you end up in Asriel’s lap, watching Chara as they show you how to order a pizza on their phone app—picking crust, sauce, cheese (“None Cheese in my case, and no, I’m not going to order Left Beef to go with it—”), toppings, and other things.

“Then you just push this button and you’re done,” they say, and hand the phone to you. “If you need any help with this, let me know.”

“Now that the pizza train’s gotten started, what anime are we gonna watch?!” Undyne yells, bouncing.

“Well, we could keep watching the show that we’re already on, but we’re already halfway through, and that’s a _lot_ of convoluted melodrama to explain to Frisk to make sure they aren’t lost,” Asriel says.

“Ugh, _please_ no,” Rufus groans. “Too much politics, too few explosions, all the fights have been sad lately. And for all Chara and Alphys keep talking about how the bad guy is so good or whatever, so far his only two emotions have been ‘smirking’ and ‘cryptic remarks’.”

Alphys shrieks at the same moment Chara loudly says “RUFUS LITERALLY DO NOT SPEAK TO ME EVER AGAIN IF YOU ARE GOING TO KEEP BAD-MOUTHING THE BEST CHARACTER IN THE SHOW PLEASE THANKS OKAY.”

“Okay, so we’re taking a break from Gundam for a while so that anime night doesn’t turn into the Bad Opinion Zone,” Innig says, chuckling. “Does anyone else have a suggestion, or are we just going to vote on a Ghibli movie or something?”

“We _always_ watch Ghibli, sis,” Liron says.

“Well, Ghibli movies are one of the few things everyone can agree on is good. Pretend flame wars can be fun, but let’s not embarrass ourselves in front of Frisk on literally the first anime night they’re joining.”

“That’s fair.”

“Does anyone have a preferred genre? Action, mecha, slice of life…?”

“W-well, I picked up a new fairy tale shoujo blu-ray series at the dump the other day,” Alphys volunteers. “It, um, it has action in it, s-so Rufus and Undyne and Papyrus won’t get bored. And it has romance! And friendship!! And it should be safe for the kids to watch! How does that sound??”

“All in favor?” Astis calls; most people’s hands go up. You put yours up too, belatedly; you’re fine with watching most things, you think. “Okay, let’s watch that then.”

You hit confirm on your pizza order and hand the phone to Asriel, relaxing between him and Chara.

The anime Alphys plays is based on Snow White, as far as you can tell, but very loosely. Its animation is definitely dated, but it looks nice enough, and you like the main character, who wins the respect of the people around her by trying her hardest all the time. Two episodes in, the pizza delivery monster appears; they’ve written your names on the boxes of all your pizzas, so there’s less fuss getting everyone theirs than you were expecting.

Today has been so hectic, and you’re already tired, so you’re not at all surprised to find yourself nodding once you’re mostly through your food. You close the pizza box and dig your phone out of your pocket, sending your leftovers into the box system instead of trying to fit everything into your stomach and making yourself sick.

It’s good to have a stash that you know for sure nobody else can get into, even if it depends on you having access to your phone.

Chara’s arm tightens around your back, like they understand what you’re thinking. You press up against them and Asriel more firmly and close your eyes, content.

 

 

(You wake just once in the night, briefly, to blankets being pulled over the three of you; a gentle hand pats your head, soft and soothing, and you close your eyes again, easing back into dreams.)


	5. to labour in love, to toil in tenderness.

Chara shakes you awake gently, and you don’t know how much time has passed. You could have been asleep for hours or for minutes. But everyone else is gone and most of the sofas appear to have been returned to wherever they belong, so you guess that maybe it’s morning by now. Asriel stretches against your back; when you look up at him he’s yawning enormously, tongue stretched out like a cat, showing what feels to you like every one of his teeth.

“It’s still a bit early,” Chara says. They get up and stretch; the sound of their spine popping is becoming familiar, but you still wince for them when you hear it. “But we’ve imposed on Alphys’ hospitality enough, and the people here need to get to work. It’s time for us to go home.”

Your ears prick a little. Home—Chara and Asriel’s home. Where they said that you’ll be staying until you decide on where you want to live. Nervousness and excitement wrestle in your guts. What kind of place will it be?

Claws patter on the tile, and you turn to see Alphys hurrying towards you from the escalator. Her glasses are crooked and she’s wearing pajamas with a printed pattern of a cat-eared anime girl. “A-are you g-g—uhh, leaving now then?”

Chara stretches their shoulders with arms behind their head and winces when their joints crack. “I am getting too _old_ for sleeping sitting up,” they grumble, low; you feel Asriel shift against you and glance at him to see that he’s giving Chara a worried look. You turn back to them, but they’re just smiling and relaxing, facing Alphys. “Yes. We want to get Frisk settled in before we do any exploring in New Home, and Asriel’s about due for a shower—I think the rest of us are too.”

“O-okay,” Alphys says, and laughs a little. “I-I’d offer mine, b-but I think that might be a little awkward s-since everyone else is going to b-be coming in to work soon.”

Chara snickers. “Yes, let’s protect all the poor innocent workers from the potential of seeing their king’s fluffy butt in the event of all the towels being too small. That kind of thing ought to be kept only to people who can appreciate it properly.”

 _“Chara,”_ Asriel says, voice full of reproach through its just-woke-up hoarseness. Both Chara and Alphys laugh at him this time.

Alphys comes to take the blankets; reluctantly, you stand up and do a little stretching yourself. Asriel stretches his legs out without standing, sinking further into the cushions, making them creak. He flexes his toes, and you stare, captivated by the crinkle of his pink paw pads and the movement of his claws—it looks just like a dog or cat stretching. Then he pushes himself out, straightens his skirt, and starts to finger-comb his mane, though it’s always so messy and fluffy that you can’t really tell what difference the grooming makes.

Chara hands their partner his backpack, which he shoulders; you pat your pocket for your phone to make sure it’s still there and safe—it is.

“We’re going to get going now, I guess,” Asriel says.

Alphys nods. “T-thank you for your help yesterday, Chara.” She looks down, steeples her fingers briefly, and shakes her head, eyes half-closed. “I-I-I’m so sorry t-to have to—to ask you for that.”

Chara reaches out and sets a hand on her shoulder briefly, removing it when she looks back up. “You don’t have to apologize. I want to help out, however I can.”

Alphys still cringes a little. “B-but I s-still know that Prase p-put you in a hard p-position yesterday. When you had an at-t-tack after the t-test was finished a-and we had to text Asriel—”

It’s Chara’s turn to make a face. “Don’t worry so much about that. It’s how I deal with the tension, I guess. And Prase apologized for it too. Yesterday’s tests were important. It’s still going to take time, but it’s good to know that we’re headed in the right direction.” They smile a little, and you recognize the look in their eyes from the night you spent in Waterfall. “We’re going to set the underground free.”

Alphys smiles a little too. “R—right. We will.” She straightens up more, clasping her arms more firmly around the crumpled bundle of blankets. “I guess I’ll b-be seeing you guys again soon then, heheh. E-enjoy your rest back at the castle. A-and!! It was nice to meet you, Frisk.”

 _It was nice to meet you too,_ you tell her, smiling. Then you take Chara’s hand and let them lead you out of the lab and into the heat.

Chara and Asriel take you right up to the elevator, and Asriel pushes the R3 button, apparently not wanting to bother with the scenic route for this morning. You lean on him and squeeze Chara’s hand while the elevator hums.

(You’re pretty sure that they turn to smile at each other over your head at least once, and you duck your head to look down at your boots in order to hide the pleased flush that crosses your face.)

When you emerge from the elevator, Chara and Asriel lead you to the MTT Resort. You expect to head for the elevator to the city in the corner, but instead they walk right past it and through the door in the very back of the lobby.

“There’s an elevator directly into the castle through the Core, so we’re going to take the shortcut and spare you getting fawned over for now when we all really just want baths and breakfast and to change clothes,” Chara says. “We can do that whole song and dance soon enough, when we head to the tailor’s to get you a bigger wardrobe.”

You swallow the protest that wants to raise in your throat that you don’t really need a bigger wardrobe—you _do_ need more clothes if you don’t want to keep imposing on other people’s washing machines, and if it’s Chara and Asriel, you think that letting them buy you another shirt or two won’t really use up their generosity. So you just nod instead. Chara squeezes your hand. You squeeze theirs back.

Through the lobby’s back door, you emerge onto a dimly lit bridge; it’s shiny beneath your feet, lit golden by the light of the hotel and glowing blue from the light through the doorframe opposite. Little red pipes glow up and down at you out of the darkness, and you feel like you’re walking into some old sci-fi anime.

The inside of the Core hums faintly like the towers in your school’s computer room. It’s all done up in different shades of blue, but for red and green lights on the walls; there’s an elevator smack in the middle of the lobby, with what’s clearly a recreation of the Delta Rune above it with a bright red light and shiny blue and indigo chrome.

Asriel hits the button, and the door swings open; the three of you crowd inside.

This elevator deposits the three of you next to another door with the Delta Rune over it; you follow Asriel through this, an antechamber, and a narrow hallway to a second elevator with the selfsame rune marking it.

“This is it,” he says, opening it for you. “You must be pretty excited, huh?”

“Don’t pressure them,” Chara says, gently elbowing him. He laughs, and so do you.

The ride on this elevator is very, very long, and its mechanical drone makes you even sleepier than you would be if there had been muzak playing. You lean on Chara for a little while, but they shake you before you can close your eyes.

“We’re here,” they say unnecessarily as the doors swing open.

You emerge into a silvery gray path that looks sort of like a bleached version of the ruins back in Home; curious, you follow along as Chara and Asriel lead you out onto white castle ramparts.

From over the crenelated walls, you can see that New Home is the city of Home’s twin, but all in silver and white instead of purple and gold. The cavern ceiling is tall here, and shafts of warm light filter down from above, mingling with the magical lighting in the city itself.

 _It’s beautiful,_ you tell Chara and Asriel, who have paused to let you take a look.

They look at each other for a moment just long enough to make you worry that you’ve offended them somehow. Then Asriel shrugs, and Chara folds their arms and says, “It is that. Ree gets tired of the view from here, but… it’s our home.”

You follow them further, up to a door in a brick wall that looks almost exactly like the entrance to Asgore and Toriel’s home. Both Chara and Asriel pass through the door with no preamble, so you go after them in silence.

The foyer, too, is nearly identical—like the city, it’s a soft silver, though. There are small differences here and there, too—the flowers on the table to one side of the stairs leading down are almost definitely clipped from the patch where you fell, all motley wildflowers, where Toriel and Asgore had a vase of pansies and calendulas instead. The low bookshelf on the other side is capped with picture frames; you walk over to give them a cursory look.

“That there is from the day Asgore formally appointed me as Asriel’s bodyguard,” Chara says from over your shoulder. (You nearly jump—their footsteps were very quiet on the wooden floorboards.) They’re pointing at a photo in which they’re standing with their foster parents, flushed and happy, clutching a knife with a gaudy red sheath to their chest. Two kids who you think must have been Undyne and Innig are there, too. “And this is from our wedding.” This photo shows them and Asriel standing together under a wedding canopy, both wearing beautiful dresses—Chara’s is white with a green robe; Asriel’s robe and dress both have sky patterns, one night and one day. Both of them are smiling, and look like they’ve been crying.

“Oh, and this here is the first picture we took after Chara came,” Asriel says, pointing to a large photo frame where a younger-looking Asgore and Toriel stand with a hand each on a small Asriel and Chara’s shoulders. They look to be about your age, and you’re tickled to see that even hunched over with their face hidden in the bouquet they’re holding, Chara seems to be taller than Asriel. That clearly didn’t last.

There are two calendars hung up on the wall above these photos. One is from this year and is properly opened to May; the other is an old calendar from 2015, and is open to September, with the 15th circled.

 _What’s this?_ you ask, pointing.

“The date I came here,” Chara says, at the same time Asriel says “Chara’s birthday.” They look at each other in surprise as you watch, then start to laugh.

“Take this,” Asriel says, handing his backpack off to Chara. They have to support it in both arms. “I’m going to go to the kitchen and get ingredients out—would you get this set in our room? You can leave it for me to unpack if you want.”

“I think I will, if you don’t mind,” Chara says. “After all, I still have a few things that I want to show Frisk.”

“Right,” says Asriel. He winks and ruffles your hair, surprising a giggle out of you. “I’ll see you two for breakfast, then.”

And off he goes down the hall, to the same direction that the kitchen would have been in Asgore and Toriel’s house.

“I’m sure you’re getting déjà vu here,” Chara says, a little strained under the weight of the backpack. They head to the opposite hallway, and you trail them; there are three closed doors here in between various small tables and flowerpots filled with more flowers from Home. The pot directly next to the first door, though, appears to be a seedling of the ancient black tree from Asgore and Toriel’s yard. Like that tree, it’s mostly bare, but at the end of one of the branches there’s a swelling green bud, and the nubs of other branches seem tipped with green too. “Asgore is a sentimental man. He had the new capital built to be a mirror of the old one when we spread out through the underground nearly thirty years ago.”

They open the door, and jerk their head slightly to indicate for you to follow them.

The bedroom here is very like what you remember theirs being in Asgore and Toriel’s house—a very large bed on the right side of the room, with the walls lined by chests of drawers and shelves, and a pull-chain lamp near the bed. There are a few personal touches here that weren’t in the other room, though—there’s an extra roll of blankets at the foot of the bed, an old toy chest in the corner with a few stuffed dolls on it (squinting, you decide from the shapes of their heads that they’re probably supposed to be Boss Monsters), a smaller version of that family photo from the foyer on top of the dresser, pointed towards the head of the bed. There’s a desk with knitting implements on it, and a colored pencil sketch of Asriel in profile pinned to the wall. There’s no signature on it, but you’re pretty sure from the gentleness in his eyes and the slightly more handsome arch to his muzzle than the real Asriel has that Chara must have drawn it. The bookshelf has a row of old picture books mixed with books on history and philosophy, scrapbooks, and novels. A gaudy red knife sheath, empty, sits on the bedside table; you guess the knife from the foyer photo must be the one Chara always has at their hip nowadays, though its current sheath is much plainer.

Chara dumps the backpack next to the bed without ceremony and sits down on the mattress’ edge, stretching their legs out and sighing. You keep standing there, awkward, until they raise their eyebrows at you and pat the mattress; a little shy, you sit next to them.

“If you’d rather stay someplace else until you decide where you want to live, you can,” they say bluntly. “And that’ll always hold true—if you get uncomfortable living with us at any point, just say so and we’ll help you come up with something that feels better for you. As it is we’re going to need to renovate either Toriel or Asgore’s old room for you—get our old stuff back out of storage and all, since both of theirs are empty. Up until then we can make up something for you in the living room or you can stay with us.

“We—uh.” They scratch the tip of their nose and push their hair behind their ear. “Asriel and I will want privacy sometimes, but we’ll work out a way to let you know that’s discreet instead of TMI’ing you. And even so—what I told you that first night, I still mean that. If you need us, either one of us, you can interrupt. You can come barging in at three in the morning when we’re sleeping and wake us if you need to, all right? We want to be here for you if you really need us. Both of us.”

You nod and lean into their side, quiet. Chara wraps an arm around you.

 _I think that should work,_ you tell them. _I…_ and here you hesitate, but force yourself to go on: _I think I’ll have—trouble still, asking for help if I need it. But it helps that you keep saying that it wouldn’t be a bother. Relying on you, I mean._

“It is definitely not a bother,” Chara says quietly. They give your shoulders a squeeze. “After breakfast and after we relax for a while, you can pick out your room, and we can get on the other practical stuff. But before that… I have something I still want to show you, if you’re up to a little more walking.”

They release you to look at you when you answer, so you smile and strike a tough pose, flexing both arms. Chara laughs at you kindly and gets back to their feet.

“All right, then,” they say, offering you a hand. “Let’s go.”

You feel as though you ought to be surprised when they lead you back into the foyer and down the stairs, but deep down inside you there’s only a sense of certainty. Chara’s hand is warm in your own, their grip gentle, and when you glance up at them their expression is resolute.

 

 

_Once upon a time, a human fell into the old capital.  
Injured by their fall, the human called out for help._

_Asriel, the king’s son, heard the human’s call.  
He brought the human back to the castle._

_Over time, Asriel and the human became as close as siblings._  
_The King and Queen treated the human child as their own._  
_The underground was full of hope._

 _Then…_  
_One day…_  
_The human became very ill._

 _The sick human had only one request._  
_To see the flowers from their village._  
_But there was nothing we could do._

 _The next day._  
_The next day…_  
_Unable to hold his silence any longer, Asriel told the King and Queen the truth._

_The human, who had come to the underground from unhappy circumstances… planned to sacrifice their own life to free us all._

_The King and Queen stopped their plan in the nick of time, but their trust in the royal family was broken._  
_Their recovery would be the work of years._  
_But Asriel and the King and Queen, who had chosen the human’s life above all else, had already decided that it would be worth the time and effort._  
_And so the human Chara lived on._

 _Several years later, another human fell._  
_At last, the truth became clear to all monsters, even those of us who had not wanted to accept it._  
_Chara was deathly afraid of and despised their own kind._  
_The second human was sent to live elsewhere, as the King and Queen could not foster them while sheltering Chara too._

_But in time of greatest need, it was the second human who came to Chara’s aid, and an unlikely friendship began between the two.  
With the friendship of the new human as well as the support of the King and Queen and of their best friend Asriel, Chara gradually grew stronger._

_As the years passed, humans continued to arrive in the underground, all fleeing unhappy circumstances._  
_Some had lost their homes and families, while others had been rejected by those who should have protected and cared for them._  
_Some came in search of answers, and others in hope of absolution._  
_Under the King and Queen’s leadership, we accepted them all._

 _Over time, Asriel and Chara’s friendship deepened into love, and they pushed each other to become strong and to accept one another’s new strength._  
_If in a different way than the King and Queen had originally expected, the two of them truly shouldered and lived up to what they had been called—the future of humans and monsters._  
_The possibility of a future where our two species could coexist._  
_The hopes of the underground, which had nearly been extinguished so long ago, burned stronger than ever._

 _Finally, when Asriel became king, he decided it was time to end our suffering._  
_Together with his partner Chara, the new Royal Scientist, and all their monster and human friends, they would develop a new solution to the problem of the Barrier._  
_Every human who falls down here will have the same chance of being accepted as a part of our kingdom, and the power of their souls will one day be used to shatter the Barrier forever—without taking their lives._

 _It won’t be long now._  
_Asriel and Chara will let us go._  
_Asriel and Chara will give us hope._  
_Asriel and Chara will free us all._

 _You should be smiling too._  
_Aren’t you excited?_  
_Aren’t you happy?_

_Soon you’re going to be free._

 

 

Together you and Chara cross another set of ramparts, pass another elevator, and enter a long golden hallway with beautiful pillars and stained glass windows, all emblazoned with the Delta Rune.

“This is the Last Corridor,” Chara says, hushed. Even their quiet voice echoes in this austere place. Your footfalls and theirs ring out like bells. “What we’re looking for is a little past here.”

You nod and hurry to keep in step, glancing at the grandeur and splendor around you as you go.

(You have to wonder if you’re imagining that the tiles and pillars seem scuffed and chipped in a few places.)

Finally Chara brings you through a door and back into the soft silver hallways of New Home. Tension that you didn’t even realize had built up in your shoulders eases away, and Chara’s pace seems to slow a little, making it easier for you to match their stride. They lead you up to a wide doorway, ignoring a fork in the road that seems to lead to a low slope downwards, and step through it.

You catch your breath at the room beyond.

There are several cracks and holes in the ceiling, and natural light spills in like golden waterfalls. If you squint, you can see the soft golds and purples of sunrise melting into brilliant blue. Blinking your smarting eyes and tilting your chin back down, you see two identical thrones in the middle of the room; both are surrounded by greenery that carpets the entire room: Thick patches of flowers and grasses in all different kinds. Splashes of color dot the soft green here and there: White flowers, pink ones, blue and orange and yellow. Vines creep up the walls, but beneath them you think you see the same gold as the windows in that austere corridor Chara just brought you through.

“This started out as Asgore’s garden,” says Chara, “but Ree and I took it over when he and Toriel moved out. It’s also the throne room, but, well—the underground is pretty informal, so no one really cares that Asgore decided to grow a bunch of flowers here.”

 _It’s so pretty,_ you tell them. _Do you and Asriel really take care of all this?_

“Well, someone has to,” Chara replies, their cheeks darkening. “Come on. Careful where you step.”

They lead you through the vast throne room to a door on the other side.

It’s dark here, like the  chamber where you first fell; there are little spots of grass illuminated by holes in the ceiling, and a gray stone path under your feet. You follow Chara around a bend and through a stone archway with the Delta Rune engraved above it, and—

Your body is enveloped in roaring light and pressure: A great thrumming, a great pulsing. You try covering your ears, but it doesn’t help at all—whatever this is, something tells you that it isn’t actually a sound. It’s something else: Magic, maybe.

Chara stands in this bizarre and irrational space unflinchingly, staring out into the horizon where the light seems to vanish.

“This is the Barrier,” they say, and you think _oh_ to yourself. “This is what’s keeping us all trapped here.”

They’re silent for a long time.

“It’s taken us decades to come as far as we have, and we’re still defeated by this ancient curse,” they go on at last. “Every new idea Alphys comes up with, every new link in our plan—it’s been like chipping away at granite. Our progress seems so paltry, in the face of the hatred that sealed my people here hundreds of years ago.

“Maybe it won’t happen this year. But definitely within the next five. We _will_ break the Barrier. No one will have to die. We will go free. You won’t have to grow up trapped, Frisk.

“I wanted you to see this—to see and understand what we’re up against. But I also want you to know that we’re going to win against it in the end.”

They reach out and squeeze your hand. “Now c’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You nod emphatically and close your eyes, allowing them to pull you back onto solid ground. The thrumming in your head slowly dies down and vanishes altogether.

“I’m sorry if that was a little much,” they say as you squint one eye open, then the other. They lift their free hand as if to touch your head, then hesitate, raising their eyebrows like they’re asking permission. You lean towards their fingers, heat flaming through your cheeks and the tips of your ears at your own boldness; Chara carefully threads their fingertips through your hair and kneads your temple lightly. You sigh and melt into the gentleness of their touch. “Are you going to be alright?”

You nod. Chara leans in to press their forehead to yours briefly.

“Good,” they say. “I’m glad. Now—let’s go and see what Asriel plans to make for breakfast, shall we?”

You smile and nod again. They stroke your hair one more time and then drop their hand back to their side; fingers still interlaced, you walk side by side through the narrow corridor and back into the throne room.

From outside, you swear you can hear birds chirping.

“Oh, that’s right,” Chara says, turning halfway to face you. “You don’t have to make a decision now, or anything, but—out of all the places you’ve seen, the people you’ve met… are there any you think you might want to stay, or anyone you might want to stay with? Monsters are weird—they all warm up to you very quickly, as long as you’re kind and sincere, which you are. So I don’t think that anyone would refuse you. That goes for the fallen humans, too. We all have our eccentricities, but we… we all understand what it’s like to not be able to bear the surface anymore. All my fellows are as good as monsters.

“So, if there _is_ anything you’re leaning towards… You don’t have to be afraid to say it. And no matter who you decide on, you’ll be able to see all of us any time you like. The underground is a small place, after all.”

Chara goes on brightly, but still you hesitate, falling half a step or so behind, letting them pull you through the gentle carpet of flowers and to each patch of light.

Maybe, the truth is… You’ve always known, from the beginning.

But you have to say so yourself, or it won’t count. Even if Chara suspects—even if Chara hopes—somehow, you get the feeling that just like you would, they’re telling themself that their gut feeling must be mistaken.

They’ve been offering you kindnesses all this time, but all the same—some things aren’t going to happen unless you work up your courage and ask on your own behalf.

You take a deep breath and squeeze Chara’s hand hard.

They stop and turn to face you, curious, their grip loosening so that you can take your hand back to sign. You close your fingers against theirs, though, before they can slip away. At this Chara tilts their head to one side, eyes wide in puzzlement.

You take another deep breath. Say it. Say it, out loud, so it counts. To show them just how much this really matters.

“I,” you say, and then you swallow and clear your throat because your voice sounds so small in this grand room, against the birdsong and the distant roar of the Barrier, against the gilding of sunlight that lights Chara up around the edges. “I want to stay with you.” You fold your lips into your mouth to wet them, drop your gaze to take a third deep breath, and then look back up at Chara. They’re lifting a shaking hand up to their face, and their eyes have gone wide, glossy with shock—or with something else, maybe. “May I—stay with you—please…?”

Chara is silent for a sparse handful of seconds, each long and horrible enough to stop your heart. The glossiness in their eyes spills over as tears—one, two, three, dripping quick and heavy down their face and onto their fingers, their sleeve, the plants on the ground.

Then they reach out to cup your face, and they smile, trembling, nearly shy. They pull you in close and hold you to their chest with both arms, stroking your hair over and over.

“Of course you can stay,” they say, and their voice is so rough with emotion you can barely make out the words. You squeeze your eyes shut and grip the back of their shirt, needing to feel how warm and solid they are, trying hard to convince yourself that they’re not going anywhere, to remind yourself of all the times they’ve answered your trust over the past several days. “Of course you can stay with us.”

You might whimper against their thin breast just a little. Chara hugs you tighter and laughs wetly.

“Ree and I—we talked—we hoped—but we didn’t think you would—” They stop themself, draw in a ragged breath, and start over. “Asriel and I wanted this too. We wanted this so much we could hardly even talk to each other about it. I’m so—relieved. God. Ree is going to be so happy. He’s going to cry so much, he is _such_ a damn crybaby.”

It strikes you that perhaps Chara is not really in the position to say that about their partner given that they’re crying right now, but you are too a little, so you guess it doesn’t matter.

“Come on,” Chara says. They loosen their grip on you slightly, running their hands up to cup your face, stroking your cheeks; they lean in to kiss your forehead, then smile down at you. “Let’s go tell him the good news.”

 _Okay,_ you sign, and hold out your hand to Chara.

They clasp it in theirs and wind your fingers together, warm and comforting and tight.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic got fanart from [@inverts](https://twitter.com/inverts/status/782731365678583809), notinaworldwithoutyou ([chara](http://notinaworldwithoutyou.tumblr.com/post/151685873681/), [asriel carrying chara and frisk](http://notinaworldwithoutyou.tumblr.com/post/166301364516)), [darkpheonixtma](http://darkpheonixtma.tumblr.com/post/153357952009/), rainglazed ([frisk and chara](http://rainglazed.tumblr.com/post/155909219360/), [more frisk and chara](http://rainglazed.tumblr.com/post/155967879864/)), and hedonistbyheart ([chara, frisk, and asriel](http://hedonistbyheart.tumblr.com/post/173492629679/); [chara and toriel from the subtle difference, frisk and liron, chara and frisk](http://hedonistbyheart.tumblr.com/post/176565663154/))! thank you!!!


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